


Garland Days

by mariacomet



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariacomet/pseuds/mariacomet
Summary: In 1967, journalist Willow Rosenberg goes looking for a story and finds more than she bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote in 2003 (yes, 2003) and I'm not sure how well it stands up over time, but I do love the story for a lot of reasons and it has a special place in my heart. I think my writing has changed and improved a lot since then. Still, thought I'd toss it up in case anyone wanted to read it. As a sidenote, the place I originally posted this was a fan forum and the forum is where my wife and I met. 
> 
> Feedback: Feedback is fuel for the imagination.
> 
> Spoilers: Everything before and including season five.
> 
> Author's note: This story is set in 1967. I have taken a LOT of liberty with the Buffy storyline. History, I have left alone…mostly. It was pointed out to me by a friend, that I could write a much longer, more meaningful story about the subject/subjects this story involves. This is true, of course. But what I first imagined this story to be was two things: a brief but heartfelt thank you to those who gave up so much in the past. And a W/T love story…preferably ending with smut. This one is for: anyone who has ever been called a 'faggot,' a 'homo' or anything else derogatory for being who you are, the transsexuals, and all those that have ever dared to not conform to what was 'normal.'
> 
> One more thing: There's some mixed feelings about police officer these days and police in this story are not portrayed in the best light. I'm old fashioned and still think there are a lot of really goods officers out there. Unfortunately, bigotry and abuse of power are very human traits. MANY people, back in the day, believed homosexuality was wrong and should be punished or medically treated. This does not mean I think that many or even ALL police officers agreed with or acted on those sentiments. Nonetheless, the events that I have written about here are based on historical fact.

**Part 1**

Special Thanks: This one is for: The kittens of the past, the drag queens, anyone who has ever been called a 'faggot,' a 'homo' or anything else derogatory for being who you are, the transsexuals, and all those that have ever dared to not conform to what was 'normal.'

 

_May, 1967_

It was a bad idea all the way around. But Sabrice, Sabby to her friends, had insisted. Which was why Tara now found herself trying to blend into the wall at one of the vilest, loudest, most backwater places she could have ever dreamed of. She considered herself to have a vivid imagination but she'd also heard all the stories about this place. Yet still she'd been unprepared. Her image of a place women would willingly gather didn't involve somewhere infested with bugs or an odor that mixed old beer and stale perfume. The floor was sticky, and the walls weren't much better.

Tara wasn't a snob, and had never been a prude. Reserved maybe. But - _this_ was where Sabby came every weekend? Sabby, whose idea of roughing it was wearing faux pearls instead of her real ones? Looking around, she thought to herself again that she was amazed that anyone— _especially women—_ willingly came here. But that was the point, wasn't it? It was why her friend was so adamant about frequenting her usual weekend spot, despite the trouble as of late. 'Willingly' didn't enter into it; that would have implied choice. Dive or no dive, this place represented a public place where lesbians could meet openly. There were two places like this one in town—the other was mostly tolerant of anyone who had money—no matter what their preference. But this one, was more of an unofficial gay bar. Unofficial because  _officially_  places like this didn't exist. It would be illegal, after all. Still, no one who came here wanted a 'straight' encounter. And most of the people who came were women.

The police had been 'cracking down,' Sabby had noted. Usually she didn't come here alone. Usually one of Tara and Sabby's two other roommates have come with her. But this weekend, there was only Tara who was around. Tara—the quiet one of the four of them. Despite an almost crippling shyness, Tara couldn't let Sabby come alone. Not with all that was happening. All that had happened.

Everyone knew the story. The police had 'arrested' a few women from the bar. Only these women had never actually made it to the police station. All of them had been released just a few hours later. One beaten within an inch of her life…and the others…well, they hadn't said too much. They hadn't had to. Others had heard the policemen's laughing voices detailing exactly what the women 'needed' as they loaded the 'suspects' into their cars.

Everyone knew the story.

Everyone knew what had happened...

And yet the entire bar was packed. As usual. In her heart, Tara thanked every single one of these women, grateful for them and their courage. 

She noted the division of strict butches and femmes that her friend had warned her about. Butches with short hair, some with ties, some in leather—the ones who were supposed to be the aggressors. They were, Tara had been told, the 'males' and rulers of this environment. Many had even declared turfs, and would fight to keep them if necessary. The femmes sat, waiting, many of them looking over to some of the butches who were leaning up against the wall, and giggling softly.

Tara sighed. She didn't fit in here. Her clothes, if one was being kind, would be called 'frumpy.' She was in slacks and a bulky sweater. She didn't qualify as a butch or a femme. Plus, she didn't want to be pursued which might have been why she wore them. In fact, she hated when strangers were aggressive around her. She never knew how to react to that sort of thing. There was also her stutter and a nervous, winding-the-ends-of-her-blond-hair-around-her-finger thing.

Sabby, who was decidedly a femme, had been the cause of a fight between two butches a few weeks ago. She'd relayed the story with a few squeals of delight. Tara didn't want anyone fighting over her. All in all, she didn't want to be noticed at all. She was sitting alone, which didn't help. Her friend had deserted her about thirty minutes ago. Which she had expected if she was honest. Sabby was just a year old, gay wise, and sometime when you discovered something about yourself, you  _really_  enjoyed the whole process of the discovering. Tara's journey to knowledge had been much quieter. She'd had a dream. A series of dreams, really.

 _Soft arms surrounding her, soft hands running down her pale back. Eye - she couldn't place the shade of green. Lighter than emerald._  She felt her breath catch involuntarily. Remembering the dreams, now silent for over five years, always did that to her. She'd never actually acted on any of her inclinations toward women. She'd been tempted a few times but then an image of the eyes would hover in her mind. There was no substituting the fiery, loving gaze that had been gifted to her in the dream. Nothing matched the feel of those arms, slender and strong. The warmth there was so real. There was something about the warmth of someone holding you—mind, body and soul. Safe, so safe. So safe you could burn and twist in that fire as you never had before. So protected, you could reach a place where nothing—not sound, not emotion, not thought—was held back.

She was lonely for a heart she'd only met when she was sleeping. That was her life: sleeping. Withdrawn from the world. Or it had been. She'd decided to leave. To leave and go to college. Not that there were all that many opportunities for women outside the home. Women were still very much expected to raise children, and stay in the kitchen. It was the natural order of things, many believed, for the female of the species to serve the male. Which, perhaps, was why so many men were threatened by a place like the one she sat in. There was an unspoken suggestion in its existence that women could have and hold their power outside of the permissions of men. 

The Second World War had been over for just twenty-two years. It had changed the face of the workplace. It put ideals and theory into practice. Maybe timing was everything, or maybe women had truly earned the respect of even the more stubborn of their cohabitants in America. Maybe both. Grit went a long way. Tara smiled softly. Her grandmother had used to say that.

The same grandmother who gave her the doll's eye crystal and told her about magic. Not her Daddy's favorite relative.

Tara Maclay was a witch. She didn't let anyone know that though. Her grandmother had warned her not to be fooled, had instructed her to use her vision to see clearly what was, not what she hoped could be.

Beneath everything in a changing world, there was fear. Men saw roles changing, and though they might be helpless to stop the avalanche, many would try. Try with all their might and all their strength. Others would sit by, silently, hoping they succeeded, even if they didn't raise a finger themselves.

It was a very volatile time.

Tara could see it, her powers letting her see vivid colors in the air marking the turbulence. She told herself in a pep talk before coming here, she wanted to be part of what was happening. She wanted to be, in her own small way, one of the brave ones who changed things. It was risky to come out to one of these bars. There were often men outside ready to taunt, or throw things at the patrons. If they were lucky. Sometimes they did more. There were police who invoked minor sodomy laws on many gay men, and tried to use fear and dominance against lesbians. Tara knew, she'd sat in on several meetings in the city. She attended them regularly, helping to make flyers, and pass them out. Helping to set up chairs before a meeting and take them down afterwards. She kept herself as knowledgeable as she could. But she didn't think she'd done much to fight, to change things. Not really.

Small steps, she supposed.

And being single.

A non-practicing lesbian. Did that even exist? Did it make any sense?

Well, she sighed to herself, at least she had her books. Lesbian novels had just started coming out a few years ago. They always went the same way. Girl leaves boy. Girl is seduced by girl. Girl dies…or goes back to boy. There was never a happy ending—not for the two women. Love was never enough. The stories were... _something_  though. A depiction of romance—even though it was a tragic romance.  _Something_ …like her life.  _Something_ like her feelings. Something…that validated the way she felt. The books always left her feeling disquieted and sad. But she had a stack of them, and read each one that she could find.

There had to be more than that, of course. So she told herself, but with so few examples around her—it felt like more of a wish than a reality. A hope she held close, held tight. She believed many of the women around her felt the same. They had no guarantees, none of them. They were trying to pave a road many people didn't even want to exist, one they had been told again and again led to ruin, pain and death. But they refused to believe. That did not mean they disbelieved. Only that they hoped. Hoped there was more.

More than now. More than the thousand little ways you could be punished if you were  _'different.'_ Gays and lesbians could expect entrapment from the police. The psychiatric community labeled them as psychopaths. The government banned any such moral perverts from serving in a government job, or the military. Homosexual publications could be 'held' by sudden enforcement of the Comstead Act. But things were changing. Meetings were held. Publications  _did_  make it out. People were speaking, refusing to be silenced.

Tara wasn't so good with the speaking out. But she could sit in a bar that had been the subject of police harassment and look after her friend. That she could do.

 

* * *

 

 

Willow Rosenberg was a reporter, and a damn fine reporter at that. It was just…well…no one knew it. They all would, she told herself time and time again. Sooner or later. Just as soon as her editor-in-chief got his head out of the very dark place it was located, and looked twice at one of her independent stories.

Which would be soon.

No, really.

It could even be tomorrow.

And then she would escape—the "Woman are Lovely" beauty column. Her bane. Her tribulation. Her column. It wasn't that there were NO women reporters. It was just that they were rare. Alright, rare she could work with, she had assured herself of that when choosing journalism. Rare just meant 'try harder' after all.

Four years later, she was at her wits' end with the 'trying' part. She would like to be in the 'doing' part, now, thanks. It didn't help that her editor gave her those verbal pats on the head and kept talking to her about finding a good man for her. Feminism was lost on the man. She'd patiently explained to him that marriage was the farthest thing from her mind, that right now she wanted to focus on her career. However, he'd dismissed her words, insisting she would change her mind. After she met the right guy.

She'd considered kicking him in the shins.

It was Xander, who she had once considered the right guy, who had given her the latest story idea. He was in the local police force. He'd heard some rumors about what had happened at a local bar called  _'Leena's.'_  Just talk. He told her, in a rare show of seriousness for the wisecracking young man, that what he'd heard had turned his stomach. Cops using their badges to blackmail, and terrify—and loving it when they did both. Against people who were deemed outcasts. He'd been telling Willow about the incidents as his friend. But her reporter instincts had perked right up. That and her own outrage. Which was what drove her reporter's nose in the first place.

He hadn't meant to give her any ideas. Yet here they sat, he in a squad car, she gathering exactly three No. 2 pencils, two ballpoint pens, and a new product she'd found out about called 'Liquid Paper.' It smelled horrible, but it helped her not have to erase, which was a good thing. Erasing created messiness, and Willow messiness meant re-writes. Many re-writes.

Until it was perfect.

Xander adjusted his police cap, and looked at her warily. "You sure about this?"

"I think it's a good story."

"It is." He agreed gently. "But Will, there's a reason those women didn't file complaints. No one is gonna do  _anything._ And it's very likely that not only will this article not see the light of day, but your editor will can you for trying to bring light anywhere near it."

"What will women in this city do without my helpful 'use baking soda to clean tarnished silver jewelry' tips!?"

"It's not funny, Will. It can be dangerous to be labeled as…"

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "As…?"

He fumbled a bit under her agitated gaze. "Well, one of those people." She huffed but he went on quickly. "Look, I say 'live and let live.' And believe me…I do NOT have a problem with the idea of two women together. As for the two men thing…there was that demon that had a crush on me. And we think it MIGHT have been male, right?"

"It was hard to tell." Willow noted, thinking back.

"And I wasn't bothered by the crush…as much as the fact that the crush entailed ripping my heart from my chest."

She patted his shoulder. "You know how these summer romances go."

"Willow, what I'm getting at is, it might change how people treat you."

"You think I don't know that?" She asked quietly.

"I'm not sure you really get it. It's hard to get until you get, ya know?" He leaned back and regarded her levelly. "I'm proud of being a cop. And I owe you. You're the reason I got through the police exams. I'm proud of what most of us do for this city. I have to believe it's just a few guys…who take it so far. But there's pressure too. I mean, the city officials, the Police Commissioner, none of them want this place here. They pressure us to…do something. I've heard them say it. So some of the guys figure they make a few arrests down here, it will get the heat off their backs so they can do their real jobs. And there's the law. Not so much with women and women…but with the guys. There are laws. We have to uphold the law even when we might not agree. It's still the law."

Willow shook her head slowly, but her expression was gentle. He'd been struggling with this for a while. She'd waited until he'd officially given her the okay to go ahead with what he'd told her. It had taken him awhile. "That's not the same as entrapment, and it's not the same as abuse."

"Yeah, I know." He agreed. "Talking too loud about the wrong thing, they could decide I'm one of…they could give me one helluva rough time. But…I can deal with that." He squared his shoulders. "I told the Chief what I thought. He doesn't want to hear it. So I figured maybe there's another way. Actually I figured that months ago. I'm tired of figuring. And I know you'll be fair. To everyone."

She looked at him and was proud of him. Of what he'd become. The man he'd grown into. "You know that he'll suspect you came to me in the unlikely event anyone does print this story. I thought about using a pen name, but even then…they'll probably know who talked."

He shrugged like it was nothing. It wasn't. They both knew it. The police were a pretty tight knit community. Right or wrong, they didn't like it when one of their own told 'family' secrets. "Worse they can do is fire me, or make me wanna quit. Either way, it wouldn't be the first time."

"You love this job."

"I love other things more." His tone grew soft and wistful but proud. She knew what he was thinking of without having to ask. The years often did that between friends.

"Buffy taught us." Willow agreed, and it answered his concerns in a way nothing else could have.

The Slayer had died four years before, saving them—saving everyone. Buffy had indeed changed their lives. She had closed a gateway between dimensions and she'd closed the Hellmouth. It had cost her a life that had lasted much longer than that of any other slayer. Even so, it had been so short. It had touched her friends, those she left behind, profoundly. At their best, they carried Buffy with them. At their worst, her memory inspired them to try again. They loved her, would always love her, and perhaps because of her they—and Giles—would always love one another. Always be bound as family. She had given them that. She had given them faith in their ability to fight for what mattered, for what was good.

Which is why they both were willing to put themselves on the line. Not against demons, now. But inside of the world they had both been part of saving.

 _The hardest thing in this world,_  the slayer had said to them all before leaving them,  _is to live in it._

He squeezed her hand. "Watch your butt in there."

She shot him a grin over her shoulder. "You know, maybe it's ego, but I'm kinda hoping others are watching it for me." The words made him raise his eyebrows in surprise.

 _Still insecure after all this time,_  Xander thought, but didn't say it. His fellow police officers often asked him for an introduction to his friend. No one got the whole platonic thing between Willow and him.

They'd started down another path once, but then he'd cheated on her with the kind of woman he'd always thought he'd wanted. He'd been a fool, of course. He'd broken Willow's heart. She'd slapped him. He'd been surprised. He hadn't thought any kind of violence was in Willow. Ever. Her heart was so giving. That was the point though, he'd broken that heart. He'd betrayed that heart. There was no going back after some things. She had forgiven him eventually. It had all been about his fear that he would never fit in, never succeed. He'd hurt her, because he had never felt good enough to be hers. Water under the bridge. All of it so long ago. She shouldn't have forgiven him. In her place…he didn't know what he'd have done. But eventually…she'd come to him, tears in her eyes, and asked if he was sorry.

He hadn't been able to talk then. He'd told her already. Or at least he'd tried. He tried then too, to give her the words that she so richly deserved. The words, heavy with his guilt and their own inadequacy, stuck in his throat. She'd never been able to believe the best about herself. His actions had only made things worse, and he hated that. Because it hadn't been her failure. It had been his. He'd tried to tell her all that. So that even if she hated him for the rest of his days, at least she wouldn't be marked by him in a way that added to her own self doubt. But despite all he wanted to say, all he knew he should say, "Please…Will…" was all that came.

"Okay," She'd said, her voice tight with her own emotions. "I need time, Xander."

Finally it came. "I'm sorry. I never…I never wanted to hurt you. I know what I did…and I don't expect…slime-based life forms don't deserve girlfriends. But I don't want to lose you. I don't know what I would do…without you." If it had been any other guy who had done this to Willow, he'd have tried his hand at beating them up. But it had been him. The one guy in all the world that should have protected her. He knew, very well, how special she was.

She'd turned to go, but though she hadn't turned turn back, she'd said three more words. "I love you." She'd whispered. It hadn't been platonic or romantic. It lived in all the spaces between those two frameworks. It went beyond their limitations.

"I love you too." He'd said.

He still owed her for all that, he thought, coming back to himself. One day…one day he'd find a way to make it all up to her.

"I'm just saying." Willow was continuing. "It's nice to be, ya know, noticed."

"Ya tramp, ya." He teased. She waggled her brows up and down and they both laughed. It amazed him how at ease she was with the jokes about her sexuality. A lot of people wouldn't be. But that was Willow…she always saw with her heart, first. "I'll keep a lookout. If there's any trouble…"

"You'll give the signal, I know." She made a mock mouth out of one hand. "Blah blah blah. You've told me twenty times in the last fifteen minutes."

"You used to tell me things twenty times, and write me notes." His brow creased.

"And there was that one time you made me tie a string around my hands. Not my finger, my hands." Willow coughed. "Pink string." Xander went on, eyeing her with more than a little growing suspicion. "And then you made me stand on Main Street and wait for an hour, showing people that picture…" Willow hummed and inched away from the car. "Hey!"

"Hell hath no fury," Willow said with mock solemnity and then scooted off.

"Hey!" Xander called out after her. "You big faker…you big string faker." Several women entering the bar turned and looked in his direction, leveling a look at him as if he was the oddest of all oddballs in the area. He blushed and sank down in his police car seat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part 1

**Part 2**

Willow was asked to dance, and demurred politely. She then sat and scribbled. Two more women came up and asked, and this time with a slight color in her cheeks, she said no again—also politely. And then the fourth and fifth women came over.

_Well, it was good for her ego._

_But no, no, no, she was here to work._

She looked around herself discreetly as the seventh potential dance partner started toward her. She quickly murmured an incantation. It didn't rhyme. That always had bothered her—she'd never seemed much good with the rhyming that came so fluidly in ancient texts. Aw well, maybe as she grew more trained in the arts she'd find the knack.

Dance partner number seven blinked for a moment then looked around intently. She was suddenly unable to see the quarry that had been there just a second ago. With something of a frown, she soon turned away. Willow felt herself give a sigh of relief. Giles would have been infuriated that she'd used a spell on someone else. Sometimes spells  _did_  go wrong. Magic  _could_  be tricky. It could either be painfully logical or horribly random if you weren't totally specific about the outcome of a spell.

But she'd had to. She was trying to do a good thing for the women here and she couldn't if she kept getting…

She paused.

Something had crawled past her on the floor. A bug. In fact, it was not the only bug. The bug had several friends. She scrambled back in her chair. Okay, sure, vampires, and demons. Bring them on. But bugs? Icky, huge cockroach looking bugs with… antlers?

_Alright, let's develop some composure Lois Lane. You hardcore, reporter, you._

She straightened her suit. She frowned at herself. She was the only one here wearing a suit. Why hadn't Xander warned her NOT to wear a suit? Maybe if she lost the jacket, she'd look more casual? After all there were others in skirts—and they had shirts. The beret she wore matched the suit. The beret had been on sale, and was really cute. It had a little kitten on it, and the color of the kitten matched the grey of the jacket perfectly.

_Okkkayyy, apparently been writing the beauty column for too long._

 

* * *

 

 

Tara sensed something. A shift in the flow of the room. A wave of power, already ebbing as it touched her. She looked up, and it was the first time she had done so in an hour. Her eyes squinted as she tried to see who or what had caused the deviation. She was a witch. She knew magic. Someone here had just cast a spell.

She wouldn't be able to say later what made her look at Willow Rosenberg. Something seemed to draw her eyes to the small table in the back, where a smaller woman in a suit and beret was scribbling, and occasionally talking to herself.

Tara didn't think the other woman was aware that she was actually talking to herself. And rather than strange… it was a little but endearing to find someone else who wasn't as wrapped up in the dynamics of the room's culture.

She saw a woman with a long black trench coat start toward Willow, then pause, then frown and withdraw. It was enough of a clue to what had just gone on, to make Tara more than suspicious that she might know where the magic had come from.

She disapproved.

But it wasn't a hard-line disapproval. Obviously spells should be used in moderation. And she wasn't sure it was good to direct them at innocents. Or…she looked around the bar…er…even not so innocents.

She looked closer at the woman in the beret.

Her aura was a constant light blue, surrounded by a wonderful shade of purple—and then an outer layer of white and pink. A person who was seeking answers or a truth. Someone with a kind and willing heart. Willing to go out of her way for others. Tara looked harder still, searching for a point of stillness inside herself that would allow her to gain understanding impossible to be seen by the naked eye. Vision was her gift. In more ways than one. It always had been. Not always the mystical kind but sometimes not always the logical kind.

Suddenly what she saw wasn't just the stranger, but a color that began to spike in and out of the auras of people around the young woman. It began to spread till it had touched nearly everyone. Green, a dark green weaving and twisting through the crowd. Leaving some of itself behind, even as it moved on…moved away. She had never seen it happen like this. The spreading of an energy. Something was in the air. Something that was about to hurt people.

Was it something the other woman had done, had called forth even without meaning to?

No, magic from another witch always had behind it the will and spirit of the caster. You could sense the person behind the spell, and their personality—however faintly. Magic could be as much of an identifier as a fingerprint.

Seeing the change in the room had been luck or destiny. But the vivid green was not part of a spell, she observed. There was no "fingerprint" of a casting. The energy, frightening as it was, whatever it was, felt natural. This was a prophecy. A lament from the future. It was a harbinger of impending doom.

Something was about to happen.

Something bad.

What her vision didn't tell her was the what and when. It made it impossible to stop. Didn't it?

Suddenly she wanted to find Sabby, and stood up to do so…

Maybe if she got home? Maybe she could do a spell?

No, there might not be any time and her gifts were often specific. She had magic yes, but she did not have endless abilities or access to power that would make all spells possible.

The answer came to her, strange and unusual.

She had never told anyone who and what she was.

She was about to tell a complete stranger.

 

* * *

 

"Excuse me," Came a voice. Willow inwardly sighed before looking up. Apparently the spell hadn't worked so well after…

And that was as far as her mind got. After that her usually adept mind thought.  _'Wow, she has the most amazing blue eyes. Soft, timid, only she's looking at me and paling. That's not good is it? Pale?'_

 

* * *

 

Green eyes lighter than emeralds looked into her own. Eyes that Tara had been in love with for years but had never looked into until now.

Her heart skipped one beat and then another. She stared. She couldn't help it. She tried to talk, but apparently something had stopped in the electronic process of her brain.

"You…y-you…" Damn the stutter. Tara had been waiting for a long time for this moment and she couldn't find any words. And the stutter was ever present. Tara looked like a fool, she was sure of it. "I need…"

"Are you okay?" Asked the gentle owner of those eyes. They reached for her soul, even now. It was like being extended a hand, a touch—an offering to exchange gifts.

"You y-y-you…" Dammit. It was hopeless. Tears sparked in her eyes. She had never been able to talk when she really wanted to. Ever. If this had just been about her she might have made an apology and fled then. But it wasn't. Tara bolstered herself and tried again. "You cast a s-spell?"

 

* * *

 

It wasn't every day Willow got asked a question like that.

What to say, what to do?

_To look horrified?' What? Me? Cast a spell? Never! Perish the thought!'_

_To be mysterious? 'Perhaps. Magic can be found in many things, after all.'_

Instead, Willow found something in those pale features that made her not want to lie. "Maybe a small one?"

A crinkled shy smile was the newcomer's answer.

 _Bingo,_ something in her shouted,  _you made her smile. You ARE soooo outta sight._

But there were things to think about other than smiles, there were the who's, the when's, and the why's. "How did you…"

 

* * *

 

"Magic always, it m-makes a s-s-signature." Tara waited for the judgment in those eyes. The sign of disapproval, pity or impatience that often came when people discovered how bad the stutter was. But she was so kind, her dream lady. Kind and open like a new flower. Young but with so many lines around her eyes and mouth. Both worry lines and laugh lines. So many.

Her mouth…

She would know this dream lady's eyes anywhere but she'd never before seen her face. Her lips. Her hair.

When was it all right to fall into someone's arms and beg them to hold you? Or lean down and kiss softness with all the fire you'd ever been forced to hold back, to push aside, and to ignore. Tara saw a kiss in her mind, and the image caused warmth to run a dark, deep sensuous path through her body. Her breathing was faster. Just a bit. Her skin tingled as if the room's temperature had changed suddenly and her body had to compensate.

_'Hi, I've been dreaming about you my whole life. Can I buy you a drink?'_

It sounded crazy. It was crazy.

There was a slight shift to the redhead's head as if she was considering.

"But only," she said finally, "to other witches."

She nodded…slowly to confirm the suspicion her words must have caused—confirm what she was for the first time. Understanding filled the redhead's expression, as well as open curiosity. Questions were natural, Tara told herself. Questions were better than laughter. Much better. She took a deep breath. "I n-n-need your h-help."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Part 1

What did you do when a beautiful woman in a lesbian bar asked for your help? For one thing, Willow thought, you felt just a little excited about it. Excited? By the request for help, after such a long time? After all, it had been years since someone had officially needed her help, especially in a witch capacity. Was that it? Was she a helping junkie?

Or was it…

Something about this woman.

She had a stutter and Willow could tell it made her self-conscious. That made Willow feel a pang of regret. It was a small thing. Nothing at all, really. Willow decided she would tell her so, if she ever got the chance. Why did it feel like they were touching? They weren't. They weren't even close to it, but Willow felt held in place, some sort of energy—something unspoken—moving between them.

The magic?

No, she'd been around other witches before. Granted they were friends of Giles, which placed them in a certain mature but still valid category. Even so, none of them had been like this particular witch. Something about her. She had watched the other witch's chin lift in resolve when she'd asked for help. There was strength there, the kind of wisdom and deliberateness that could bind things together in a lasting way. She wouldn't be the type that would go for the big showy spell. Nor was she, unlike Willow, someone who would alter magic—take the natural and make it bigger or fiercer.

This witch worked within the limits of nature, she used what was there and shifted it just a little…and the effect would ripple and ripple. So confident in those small twists and turns of the natural world. So young and so sure about her power and its limits. So controlled and wise in its use.

Willow had never gotten there. She had tried. She was still trying. She was always looking for the next big spell. One more powerful than the last. That she could practice and master, and then list on her internal resume of spells. She always felt restless in her pursuit of magic.

"Maybe," Willow said thoughtfully, "this calls for an introduction. I'm Willow Rosenberg."

"I'm Tara Maclay." There was a moment that Tara studied her then, taking in not only her clothes but the abandoned pen and paper she had been using to take notes.  _She saw a lot_ , Willow guessed,  _more than most._

There was silence then, as if neither was really sure what else to say.  _Well_ , Willow thought,  _the whole exchange so far had been unusual. Unusual good. Unusual…interesting._  They were still being all…non-talky. And now their eyes were doing the avoidy looking down or around thing. That lasted just a moment though because their eyes did catch again…and with that moment of meeting gazes, they both began to smile. Partially giddy, partially bemused smiles of a connection they didn't quite understand yet.

But sudden twirling surges in her tummy aside, Tara had asked for help. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Willow asked.

"Are you g-going to d-do a spell on me?" The tone there was mild, but Willow heard - something - in the voice. Something very Giles-ish and vaguely disapproving.

Her explanation came in spurts that never quite made it to coherency. She didn't want Tara to think…badly of her. "Um, well I was trying to…I didn't…see, I was…"

And then everything stopped. Tara was laughing softly. Not cruelly, just, well, almost affectionately. Willow Rosenberg, writer of a column about beauty was suddenly transfixed. For this was beauty. Tara laughing, eyes letting in the light and shining. Her face relaxed, and young. Her lips fully tilted up… why that did that remind her of Greece…or somewhere far away…somewhere seductive with sand, and sun. The sweet air mixing with the salt of the sea. She felt the hint of a taste, or maybe the promise of it. Tara's mouth….

She snapped herself out of it and managed a bemused expression at herself.

"I'm a reporter. I needed a little room?" She hadn't meant that to come out as a question. Tara nodded though, seeming to understand.

"Because your writing about the raids?"

 _Yep, this one didn't miss much._ "Right."

"I think - there's only t-t-two reasons a reporter w-would come here. One is the r-raids."

"What's the other?"

At this, the blonde's expression grew uncertain and a little sad. "A n-novelty piece. To show how d-d-differ-r-rent w-we are." Willow's shoulders fell as she considered that. She suddenly felt sad too. Very sad. Gay or not gay, no one had the right to treat another human being like an animal in the zoo. "But you don't s-s-seem the type for that so I figured 'raids.'"

Another shy smile, which Willow returned.

_Whoa, there. It's like we're flirting. Are we flirting? Am *I* flirting? How can I be flirting?_

_Tara's a… a…woman._

She could have bonked herself on the head at that thought.

Her eyes skimmed over the curves of the blonde in front of her. The inviting curves. Tapered waist, full hips…like a finely crafted violin rising up to a long pale neck…and then up…to those bountiful lips. Willow wondered idly how soft they were. What they would feel like—if they would part under her own, if she kissed her.

"You're staring."

"What? Oh, yeah. I was but I shouldn't be. I mean I'm not, ya know."

"Gay?"

 

* * *

 

With that question Tara felt something in her sink, and crumple. Her dream—just a dream. Always just a dream.

And then suddenly there was light so blinding that it threatened to blast away all the darkness that had ever touched Tara's life. "I don't think it matters. I mean, if you like someone, you like someone, right? I mean, there's nothing that's certain from the get go. All relationships—all dating for that matter—are a dice throw right. And you can rolls 7's or roll 8's. I think it's 7's and 8's. I've never played craps by the way. Blackjack and poker. But not craps. Not that like, I'm a gambling fiend. Though, I have done articles on fiends. Drug fiends. Not that they were really fiends at all. That was my point. I'm not saying I agree with drugs! Just that fiends and drugs don't always go hand in hand. Which is what my article said. Only it was never published. Because, well people don't like stories about fiends. I think. Am I talking too much? Because if I am, I can just shut it off…just like water faucet. Only I tend to, maybe, talk a lot when I'm nervous. But I can be quiet. Willow 'mouse' Rosenberg, that's what they call…"

"Why are you nervous?" Tara interrupted right about the time that Willow stopped just long enough to take a breath. She was smiling again. She couldn't help it. The 'mouse' over there was charming her.

"You." Came the answer. Tara had never made anyone nervous before. She blinked in confusion and her eyes asked a wordless question. "You're - you're -  beautiful and you're a witch. You're a beautiful witch. And there's something about you. Did I mention you're beautiful?" The redhead shook her head fervently, as if trying to clear it. She rushed on, not letting Tara get a word in edgewise. "But you wanted help. Did you need help with a spell or…And also, sorry, do you want to sit down?"

Tara did, at the chair next to Willow. Someone started toward Tara suddenly, a potential dance partner. She heard Willow mutter something, and suddenly the woman who had been coming close, looked around confused, then begged off. Tara glanced to Willow who was smiling almost apologetically.

"You made her not see us."

"Sorry. This table, it gets a lot of traffic for some reason." Willow said.

"You're near the butch section." The other witch filled her in.

"There are sections?" The redhead asked in a tone so befuddled that Tara laughed again softly. "I really didn't see the sign. Was there a sign? Anyway, no one will bother us now. And, um, " She gave a little shrug, and looked down at the table. "If anyone is going to ask you to dance, I should." She dared a glance up. "I mean, because we're already talking. And we have things in common. Cause, witches."

Tara's heart stammered in her chest in a wonderful kind of way. She felt her face grow hot with a blush, but she couldn't keep a lopsided grin from her lips. Actually that same smile graced both of them at once, though neither of them could look at one another again for a full sixty seconds.

"We keep getting off topic." Tara said in what was a reminder to herself more than to the reporter.

"Right. Right, I'm sorry. What can I do to help?"

"Do you know anything about auras?"

"I've read about them, but I don't see them. I've never met anyone who can."  _This is where things got tricky,_ the blonde thought to herself, and tentatively raised her hand.  _Well trickier._ A lot of witches, Tara had read, thought aura readings were something of a crock. Willow's expression didn't change though. She was waiting, still interested.

"There's - " She stilled her emotions, and closed her eyes for a moment. Her heart was beating fast. Because of Willow, because she was near Willow. She couldn't read like that. She counted slowly, letting herself concentrate fully on the numbers. Only they filled her mind, and everything inside her was silent save for the methodical counting. She opened her eyes then, and sought out what she had seen before, hoping it wasn't there. Only it was. "Sometimes, I see green in people's auras. It can mean different things if it's only one person. But today, today I saw it seem to spread. I've never seen it do that."

She didn't add that the only reason she knew this was because she'd been reading Willow.

"Something is about to happen. It m-might be nothing." She admitted. "It might only be something people see or something small. My 'readings' never give me s-s-specifics. She felt herself give a small shrug. "It's not an exact science."

"What can we do?"

 

 

* * *

 

 _Neither was interpreting apocalyptic ancient Sumerian texts,_ Willow thought with sympathy. She had soooo been there. Oh sure, world is ending, but it's all in this riddle—with references thousands of years old. And who the hell knows where you can get some of the components you need to counteract half the things set in motion.

_Darn pesky green auras._

Willow reached out, and patted Tara's hand comfortingly and then they both froze. Willow's thumb moved, as she considered retreating…only the effect was a caress across Tara's knuckles. Words seemed appropriate, but which ones…what to say?

_I'm sorry I touched you. And that I liked it. Did that sound reasonable?_

More surprising…most surprising was the reporter did not want to let go. Again, the small movement of her thumb. Almost a test…a test of texture but also of her own internal reactions. Her mouth grew dry. Little tingles were resonating from her fingertips. From where she was touching Tara.

"You don't have to." Tara all but whispered.

"What?"

The blonde nodded to her hands, and it seemed to Willow that her new friend was holding her breath. "That."

 _No, I don't have to. Nope. Probably should just let go. Probably making a fool out of myself._ "Can I?" Then internally,  _please?_

It didn't help that somewhere in the background a song by Frankie Valli had started. One that Willow had allowed into her heart since the moment she'd first heard it. Because the words were the way she wanted things to be. The way she wanted to feel about someone.

You're just too good to be true  
Can't take my eyes off of you  
You'd be like heaven to touch.  
I wanna hold you so much.  
At long last love has arrived…

Here, holding Tara's hands, looking into her eyes, music became truth.

The writer struggled to find words. "We're, um, off topic again."

_Oh green eyes, you have no idea._

Tara didn't answer the question, she wasn't sure she had the courage too. She had always been shy by nature, and there was the stutter too. But she shifted her hand slightly so that it was easier for Willow to run small circles over her hand, to mingle their fingers, to trace her fingertips and in between.

"We could do a protection spell." Willow suggested suddenly.

Tara was all focused on the touching. The small, delightful touching that was making her breath hitch over and over again in her chest. Her hand trembled just a little under Willow's.

Pardon the way that I stare.  
There's nothing else to compare.  
The sight of you leaves me weak.  
There are no words left to speak

_Damm that Frankie Valli, anyway._

"Usually," She said with a struggle to find her voice, and when it came it sounded thick to her own ears. "I thought you h-h-have to do that s-spell either on one person or against something specific. Or both. Unless you know of…"

"No, no, that's right."  _Bad idea, Willow._

And not just on the spell thing. Willow was seriously thinking of raising the pale, long fingers she was caressing to her lips. To feel Tara's hand against her cheek, to feel her skin against her mouth—even in such an innocent display as kissing a fingertip.

_Tara, Tara, Tara…_

The name sang in her mind.

_What are you doing to me, blue eyes? What are you stealing from me or what am I giving without my even realizing it._

_And shouldn't I be feeling more surprised? Shouldn't I be shocked? Or something?_

_Tara was, after all,_ as she had pointed out to herself before,  _a woman._

_My heart doesn't seem to know the difference. It doesn't care. The point is this is Tara. Tara who I feel this…connection to. I know her. I know I do. I know that she's giving, and gentle, and wise. I know that she would never hurt anyone on purpose, even if it costs her. I know that she would be the first to embrace the wounded around her. Whether she knew them or not. Whether they were her friends or her enemies…or just someone she saw out of the corner of her eye. I know that inside her she has more strength than most people do, and much more than she thinks she has. She's got this quiet strength. It doesn't need to brag or boast. It just is._

_Her soul stares out at me through those eyes. Unhidden. Unyielding. Inflexible in her gentleness. Courageous in her compassion._

_She's single, right? She has gotta be single. I mean, not because she's ugly or anything. NOT that outer beauty matters. Um, thinks the writer of the beauty column. Moving on. My point is…she has to be single…because. Because…_

"There are spells," Willow continued, forcing herself to focus on green auras and not on blue eyes. "Where you can ask for signs. Maybe that would help. Or we could…oh!" Her voice rose in her excitement and she had to remind herself that only dorks got excited over spell tinkering. "I once did a spell where anyone with hostile intent was blocked from entering a friend's house."

Tara worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Willow was overly aware of anything involving Tara's lips. Or hands. Or…anything really. She saw an image of Tara leaning close, their bodies not quite touching. Tara lightly nipping at her…not quite kissing…once then again. The image danced in Willow's mind and then when it had tormented her senses just enough, it ran off with a giggle.

_Damn taunting, um, taunts._

"I wish we could do more than a blanket spell." Tara was saying. "Maybe we s-should t-try to get some more specifics. But w-we'll need to find somewhere quieter to try it, I think."

"There's a shop, I know of. It sells, um, well charms and jewelry mostly. And history books." It was NOT, Giles had told her clearly, to ever be called a magic shop. Not around laymen. People were very antsy about that sort of thing in this day and age.

"I don't have a car."

"I do…I mean…my friend does. He's outside."

"He?"


	4. Chapter 4

A story came to Tara that a friend of a friend had once told Sabby. About married couples who 'cruised' bars like this looking for a third person.

And just as soon as that thought came, another followed it—and it was a tiny part of her that wouldn't care whether she was a third or not, just as long as Willow was touching her. She quelled that voice. Never in a million years could she ever seriously go through with something like that. Even if it was with this lovely woman. A lovely woman who…perhaps… had haunted her dreams. If such a thing could happen. Could dreams come true so literally?

Anyway, it was nice, in a strange kind of way, to have an irrational voice in her head to counter her over-rational one. She was  _always_  the sane one.

She didn't feel sane now. She felt like part of her mind was on fire.

_So this was what it was like to be really attracted to someone, huh._

"He's a friend."

"Who is outside," Tara completed.

Willow seemed to see her hesitation. "Um, or we could, maybe walk somewhere or…if you're worried about him. He's harmless. So am I. Really."

 _Not harmless, green eyes, not harmless at all. No one that can make my heart pound just by walking up to me is harmless. Well, I did ask her for help. Time to extend a little trust and take a few chances, Tara._ She considered trying to find Sabby and let her know that she'd be gone awhile. But she already felt the press of time, felt that she had lingered…with Willow…too long. Besides, she realized, looking around intently, Sabby was nowhere to be seen. It was very possible, she too, had already left for a little while. Her friend didn't always think to tell her or anyone what she was going to do, or was thinking of doing. She was far too spontaneous for all that.

Tara had envied that sometimes.

Until tonight anyway. When she was about to take a plunge of her own, over a beautiful pair of green eyes. She shook her head at herself inwardly and laughed. She would have never considered herself the type to be so…swayed by the mere presence of someone…no, not just someone. This someone.

"Okay." The blonde said carefully. "My apartment is…just five minutes away." That was good. Her apartment. No point is running off with someone into an environment she had NO control over. She would add some safety to this situation by dictating the place. Though the truth was, she didn't believe in a million years that Willow would ever be a party to hurting anyone.

And she felt safe.

The woman with those amazing eyes hesitated, wanting to be sure Tara was certain. "You sure? I know you barely know me…so…"

 _Not entirely true, green eyes._ "It's o-okay."

Willow slowly lifted Tara's hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles lightly. It was a gesture of respect, and even reassurance. But, so warm, Willow's kiss. Her lips parted at the touch on her hand as if the kiss had not been an innocent brush, but had blazed across her mouth instead. Their palms pressed against one another, and their gazes were both searching, though for what, Tara couldn't have said.

They walked together outside, still in lost in the fog of one another. They weren't touching now, but it didn't matter.

"Willow!" Came a loud voice, and a police officer started toward them. Tara froze, and looked worriedly from Willow to the cop and then back again. Maybe this…could it be entrapment? She heard about this—but mostly with men. Cops would get a man to agree to leave with them, or encourage a man to make an offer—then get him outside and arrest him. No…no she didn't want to believe that. Maybe Willow was in trouble?

 

* * *

  

Willow felt Tara tense, and looking to Xander, she could understand why. She'd wanted to break the cop thing to Tara slowly. But Xander charging toward them, drawing looks from patrons entering the bar had just blown apart that little plan.

"It's okay." The reporter said quickly. "That's my friend."

"You're friend is a cop?" Tara echoed, and in her voice Willow could tell there was so much doubt and not just a little fear.

"He's one of the good guys.'

The police officer lightly took Willow's arm. "Where the hell have you been? I've been signaling you for the last ten minutes." He said, and worry mixed with anger in his eyes. It was just fear for her, she knew, and so she lightly disengaged herself without worrying him further.

"Ten minutes?" Color rose in her face.  _Apparently she'd been busy. She just hadn't realized how…held…her attention had been._  "I didn't hear the siren or the car horn…"

He rushed on, not giving her a chance to continue. "Yeah, well, I did the siren, horn-horn thing about a hundred times. I've been hearing chatter on the police radio and…" His dark eyes glanced worriedly to Tara, then back to Willow.

"Tara this is Xander. Xander, this is Tara." She lowered her voice. "She's a witch. She thinks something is gonna happen tonight. We're gonna do a spell."

"There's no time for all that." He hissed back. "Something is happening, alright. They have four cars coming and two paddy wagons on their way. We have to get out of here."

"But this is why I'm here!"

"No, Will, usually they just send a couple guys, and they grab the owners and then shut the place down. Tonight's different. They never send two paddy wagons. Plus, I don't know whose bright idea it was to put this guy in charge, but I know him, he's got a mean streak."

The two women shared a long, pained look. They both mentally were going through all the 'should haves' and 'could haves' of the situation. They should have left the bar sooner. But how quickly could you go from an introduction to casting a spell together? They could have been a little less involved in one another. It hadn't been on purpose. It hadn't even been expected. They should have guessed that the bad thing that was going to happen involved the police. Yet, it could have been a thousand other things too.

Willow knew how many other things were out there.

And now they were too late.

There was no time now to do research and find the spell that would cover the most bases. No time to find a quiet place to cast. No time to gather components.

They were too late.

"We're gonna get you outta here." The policeman was continuing. "Your friend can come too."

"No, Xander." She argued, managing to tear her eyes from Tara's. "The deal was I go in, I scout around and get the atmosphere. If anything happened, I would come out here, sit in your car, and report whatever I saw."

Xander looked decidedly nervous as he looked down the road and then back to his friend. "That was when I thought it was a couple of guys like me coming, and I could make them back off if I made this my collar. Stole their thunder, ya know. But this show they are putting on tonight, I can't stop it. I don't outrank a lieutenant. And the lieutenant they're sending is a class A jerk. Not B, or C or E. There's nothing more dangerous than a jerk that has power. If I try and do what I was gonna do, he'll not only just take over, but he'll smell a rat. Especially if he see you. He'll go to the chief about me, and go to your newspaper about you, and then there'll be no reporting anything ever."

"But…"

"I have to warn my friend." Tara cut in quietly.

The police officer nodded. "That's a good idea. And you can tell more people than your friend, if you want. Just try and keep the source quiet, okay?"

Tara took a few steps back toward the bar then paused. "And I should be in there when it happens."

"What?" The young police officer blurted. He circled her, blocking her escape. He held his hands up in front of him so that she knew he meant no harm. "Look, miss, I don't know if they're out to arrest people or if they're just giving you ladies a hard time. Or worse. No matter what though, it won't be pretty for anyone they nab. And this is too big…I can't…I don't know what I can do if things get bad. You stay in there, you could be risking a helluva lot."

She nodded slowly. Her forehead knit in thought. "S-someone h-h-has to, don't they?"

The young man's hands fell to his sides. He adjusted his cap and shook his head. "Look, I'll stay nearby. Just in case. I'll do what I can." He exhaled a long breath, and glanced again down the road leading to the bar. "Good luck." He said finally, meeting her eyes, and not knowing what else to say.

She touched his arm, in thanks for his concern. Tara stopped just before rushing back toward the bar, and turned to this woman who had been making her world spin faster and faster from the moment they'd met. There was both an invitation in her eyes to follow, and yet an expression of understanding if Willow chose not to.

The choice, the young woman seemed to be saying by just that one look, was entirely up to Willow. She started back then, without another word.

Willow paused, caught between her friend's rightful concern, and her desire to follow Tara anywhere - everywhere. Wherever she might lead.

When she looked up at her life-long friend, he was staring at her intently. "You can't be thinking what I think you're thinking."

The redhead was chagrined. "She's something, isn't she?"

His brows rose. Xander did a classic double take between Willow and the retreating blonde, then he scratched the back of his head. " What, ah, what happened in there?"

What was the best way to explain? How could she make him understand something she didn't understand herself? Something that she had stumbled upon a treasure that couldn't be measured, not even by her. Someone she hadn't known existed till tonight had made all the heavens of her sky fill with an over-abundance of stars. So much so that night became day and day became night. Her heart was a sudden, intense lighthouse, the world was the sea and Tara was the keeper of whatever light she could ever yield. Her every breath became a thing of power and magic. The best part it - of feeling more herself, more alive, more filled with her own spirit than she ever had been—was that all she wanted to do was to give it all away. To one person. And that was a miracle too. The giving, the desire to give, the ability to give to someone who had stoked the fire of that giving.

All of that, in such a short time.

"You know how we always used to wonder about people who did sky diving and motorcycle racing, and all that stuff? Because we knew what it was like to face death—and we couldn't imagine why someone would seek that kind of thing on purpose? I feel like it's crazy, but I know what gives people that kind of courage now. They want to feel alive. They want to take risks, and not let the fear of anything hold them back."

"So, she makes you want to race motorcycles?" He asked, with raised brows.

"She makes me want to jump. With my heart."

His expression turned from confusion and surprise to compassion. "I don't get it, but, if she makes you happy…" He took her hand and looked down. "You deserve to be happy."

"So do you." Willow said simply. She had an idea of what he was thinking of and why. He'd broken her heart once upon a time. His regret over hurting her so deeply shadowed so much of their friendship even now.

He smiled suddenly. "You know, Tara is pretty righteous. Think she has a sister?"

His friend gave a mock-serious look. "If she does, I'll try and arrange it so you have first dibs."

"You know it won't be easy if you and Tara….it's a rough world, kid. You sure about this?"

Her mind didn't rebel at his looking at the long term. Xander knew better than to take her crushes lightly.  _A crush? Is that what this was? Gosh, what on earth was this?_  She was about to follow Tara into possible danger, risk her career, diving in head first without a thought. It was all very unlike her. And the best part was she didn't care.

"All I'm sure of is that I can't walk away." She said quietly, honestly. "When I met her, my life became bigger. I don't know how that can happen just by meeting someone. But it did." She hesitated. "Just in case I get through tonight…will you be okay if she and I...?"

"Hell no." He answered frankly, but then smiled. "Will, if you decide she's what you want…." Their eyes met. "Then I'll be here for you. And if you decide she's not, I'll be here too." He gave an offhand shrug. "You're Willow. That's all you have to be."

There were things that Buffy had taught them, and ways that she had bound them. Unbreakable ways. She embraced him lightly.

He returned the hug and sighed into her ear. "Look, I'll be out here and no matter what, I'll be close by, okay? I'll do whatever I can to stop anything from…I'd rather give up my badge then…"

"I know," She answered him quietly, gently. "I have to go." Then she squeezed his hand. "See ya later."

"Take care of yourself." He murmured after her, his expression worried.

 

* * *

 

 

The last thing Tara expected was to hear her name called, and then feel a gentle hand touch her shoulder. She had been looking for Sabby…and had found her in the lap of a prospective suitor. She'd started to tell her about the danger…about what was coming. Tara had been focused on that. And she was sure that Willow wouldn't follow. Why would she—on purpose—engage in something that was way out to the left of sane?

Yet, here Willow was.

"Haven't we met somewhere before?" The redhead asked with a shy expression.

"Willow…Willow, if they ar-r-est you. Your j-j-ob." Her job, her apartment, friends, contacts. She could be risking a lot. For Tara, it was one thing, but she would never ask it of someone else. She wondered if with just a few words, or even a look, she could convey it all. She wondered if she had enough time to warn Willow of all the dangers, big and small, that being arrested in this place could mean.

Some weren't even that obvious. Willow would think she knew, but Tara doubted that she really did. Willow would have to live the life to understand all of that.

"I'm staying. I mean, if that's okay."

Tara looked into a face that was becoming oh so dear. "But you…you're n-not…"

Willow lifted her hand to caress the other woman's smooth cheek. The warmth of Tara's breath teased over her thumb as she lightly stroked down, around the corner of her lips.

The small touch terrified Tara. But also, she was afraid for Willow. This was such a long road she might start. Such a long, difficult road and she wasn't turning onto it in the easiest place either. Tara had seen things, experienced things. How could she wish them on Willow? How could she make her understand without more words? Without time, a chance to tell her, to warn her.

"Hold that thought." The reporter whispered to her.

She took Tara's hand and led her to the bartender. "The police are on their way." Willow told the man behind the bar. When he looked uncertain, the woman at Willow's side nodded her head in confirmation.

A few moments later the music in the bar stopped. An older woman appeared and made the announcement. The crowd was silent and then everyone seemed to talk at once. Whispers and hushed voices—some angry, some frightened. The bartender, as Willow looked back, was putting away alcohol though she couldn't say why. Someone else was going around to the tables and quickly emptying glasses, as well as collecting all the beer bottles. Some women had begun to duck out the back door.

The redhead turned to Tara again. "Do you want me to stay?" Willow asked her.

Others were leaving now. A steady stream of others who were terrified to be caught here. Tara could see them out of the corner of her eye. And in the middle of all this, a pair of green eyes were on her questioningly, waiting. The reporter wanted to know if Tara wanted her to stay.

The word 'always' blossomed within her in answer. It was much too soon for ideas like that. Yet, they were spinning inside her and she couldn't deny it. She didn't have the strength to, or maybe with her green-eyed dream here at her side…she didn't have the cowardice.

Was she really wishing she could be more of a coward? No, but surely she should be afraid?

Oh, but she was. She was terrified, in fact, just not of the police. She trembled because of what was - who was - suddenly here and warm in front of her. Tara knew longings didn't always have answers. That dreams didn't always walk in and offer you a chance.

Sirens started to sound outside. Still a short ways in the distance. But there, hovering like a specter in the night.

Tara caught Willow's hand and now it was she who gave a small, tender kiss. It was answer enough.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, even Willow, who tended to babble when she was nervous, didn't have the words. And it was hard to hear words when her heart was pounding as if it was trying to leave her chest and lay itself in Tara's arms. For good. Forever. But she had a tune inside her, and she knew the words to that and they were everything she felt.

She spoke loudly. Loud enough for everyone to hear. Tara. The patrons in the bar. The cops that might burst in at any moment. "You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you. You'd be like heaven to touch."

The reporter could feel all the eyes in the place turning to her, and at about the third line. And then it was her own, shaky voice—plus her and Tara that were center stage.

She made the mistake of trying to sing the next bit, and winced as she was reminded that she had little concept of tone. But Tara's eyes were shining and there was no room for shame or embarrassment. Not here. Not now. "I want to hold you so much. At long last love has arrived, and I thank God I'm alive. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you." She took both of Tara's hands, and saw that Tara's lonely soul—having found her own—had begun to send tears down those soft pale cheeks. But that was okay. Because it wasn't sadness that had come to Tara, but wonder.

"Pardon the way that I stare. There's nothing else to compare. The sight of you leaves me weak. There are no words left to speak. But if you feel like I feel. Please let me know that it's real…"

She stopped then, because Tara's eyes had filled with a myriad of desire, hope…and…more that stole the singer's breath. They paused there, their feelings born into such a common night when the old world was stripped down to its core, and then reborn. The old flavor of time was gone, and it was replaced by indescribable sweetness.

_How could I know how cold I was, until I began to burn?_

And she was. She was a being of fire, consumed by it, breathing it into her. Which was what it was like to be with Tara.

They reached for one another and claimed the kiss they'd been waiting for their whole lives. Their mouths moved together as gently as a whispered question. Once and then again until the kiss became an answer. Its softness burned, and simmered…and lasted. Their mouths clung to one another, as each kiss grew deeper than the first. It was suddenly easy for Willow to imagine getting lost in a kiss. There was a kind of hunger she was discovering in Tara's arms. The kind that could infuse itself into your mind and body till felt you might collapse. Till touch became your only way through the passion, the only sense that mattered. Their tongues circled, wet and warm, as they pressed tightly to one another. Willow's hands lifted, and both of them pressed deeply into Tara's hair. There was an edge of desperation to that caress. She just… _needed_  to keep Tara close. To offer whatever Tara wanted to take. And oh, it seemed she wanted so much. And so did Willow. And there, it was Tara who gave. Tara's hands that cupped Willow's face and  _needed…needed_  each and every kiss. It was dizzying.

They opened gateways to one another in those first kisses, and tasted and nibbled, and wanted to devour. They drifted away from what had been their lives, and found themselves on a new road. Together.

The audience around them cheered.

Willow fell away from the kiss, breathing unsteadily. Holding Tara still. Unable and unwilling to let go.

And some—those who had had stayed—began to sing, putting their arms around their partners and prospective partners. Their voices filling the bar, just as Willow's had a moment before.  _"I love you baaaaby. And if it's quite alright, I need you baaaaby to warm the lonely night. I love you baaaaby. Trust in me when I say….Oh pretty baaaby…Don't bring me down, I pray. Oh, pretty baaaby, now that I found you, stay. And let me love you, baaaby. Let me love you."_

And it was at that moment, with most of the bar singing, and Willow and Tara still in one another's arms, that the police entered the building.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special content warning—This part deals with subjects and situations that readers may find disturbing. I believe it's necessary to include this, because it feels honest to me. But I did want to warn that it would not be easy reading.
> 
> The period is which this is written is one where homosexuals were harassed and often abused. I didn't want to ignore that when capturing this time period, as I feel it would take away from those that had the strength to stand up, and face society—despite everything. I chose, what I consider to be, a situation that was serious enough to convey humiliation, but one that does not cross the line into physical abuse or rape. The latter did happen in reality but it's not somewhere I want to delve with this story. My deepest appreciation for your faith in my writing

Outside in the car, Xander listened as one policeman got back to his vehicle and began to relay what was going on over the radio.

"Lieutenant, they're…they're singing…!" The officer said.

"What?!" Crackled the radio.

"I said they're singing." The cop grumbled. "Frankie Valli."

Xander began to chuckle. Willow loved that one song and he knew it. He couldn't remember the name of it though.

"You want me to continue here, sir?"

"They're running an illegal establishment." The Lieutenant all but shouted. "They're laughing at us. What do you think I want you to do? Take one wagon to the precinct. Only half-fill the other wagon and take that one down to the beach. You know what to do from there."

"Yes sir."

Xander shut his eyes and felt a shiver run through him. For just a moment, he hated what he was, and what he represented. But then he took in a deep breath and forced that away. He refused to believe that he was one of the bad guys. Cops could be used as a political tool, sure, they could abuse their power…but they were there to help. In general, they were heroes, not villains.

He'd been accused before of being naïve. By other cops, even by Willow. But he didn't think he was.

An idea came to him.

There were guys he knew. Other guys on the force whom he trusted. He was about to find out just how naïve he was.

The women who had been loaded into the second paddy wagon numbered about ten.

When they'd gotten to the beach, they'd been forced to undress down to their underwear. The cops were walking around them, jeering. They'd had to tolerate 'searches' since they'd stripped down…'searches' that were more excuses to grope than anything else. Now, occasionally, they were poked with batons while the police laughed and continued their verbal barrage.

Tara looked at the men in uniform and struggled not to hate them. Hadn't she been taught all her life that these were the people she should turn to if she was ever in trouble? If her loved ones were ever in trouble? And if she couldn't turn to them…what did that mean?

She knew why she and Willow had been taken. They'd refused to let one another go. And that, more than anything else, had made them a target.

Two police cars had come with the paddy wagon. Now one more pulled up, and a tall, thin man got out of the car, stalking over the sand towards the women.

"All of you need to learn a few things." He said without preamble. "You need to learn what's natural. The way of things. What all of you need…" And here he smiled. "Is a good man. Or a good fuck from a good man." Some of the other officers laughed. Some, but not all. "Now, you can go and find those things on your own. Or we can help you. It's up to you." He looked around him. "I want all you bitches to say…'I like dick.' Come on now."

Some muttered it. Some were quiet. The humiliation thus far had been enough. Most of them just wanted to go home.

"Come on." He said again. "Louder! I.Like.Dick…" More said it, but it didn't seem enough for him. He had the other officers line up the women. He marched up and down the line, demanding the women say it again and again. Some were crying at this point. In frustration or fear or shame.

Willow stood near Tara and occasionally they'd look at one another. They had both started saying what the Lieutenant demanded. They didn't want to instigate matters. More than anything else right now they were tired—emotionally and physically.

Again the policemen were poking the women with batons, this time if the woman in question wasn't saying what they wanted loud enough. Tara was poked repeatedly. And they made fun of her stutter.

It was then that Willow reached her limit. She wasn't sure, looking back, why she hadn't acted sooner. Sometimes she forgot about her own power. And also, it was possible that some of Giles' lessons about not abusing power had stuck. It wasn't her first instinct. Not her first one...

_But if this guy wanted to see a bitch…_

The weavings of power were often subtle, hidden in ordinary things or enhancing ordinary things. At least, according to Giles, that was the way it should be. There was a danger in altering too much of what was the 'natural' world. Because magic was not a servant—it was an old, powerful, majestic creature. It could run in the blood, or it could surround an area. When you invited it in, whether it was into an item or a place, you could wind up with a number of its guises—evil or good. It wasn't that you had no control. Certainly you did. If your soul was peaceful, and you had good intentions, it was virtually impossible to call forth something that was evil. Virtually. That did not mean, however, that you would get entirely what you asked for. And the more powerful the spell, the more that could potentially go wrong. There was also the minor chance that what you called forth could either turn on you, or possess you.

There was another thing—the universe, somewhat randomly, tended to enforce a karmic law. And usually if it decided this was an instance when it was going to enforce that law, it reacted in a way that was three times worse than any harm you had inflicted on another.

None of this reasoning, carefully drilled into the witch by Buffy's former watcher, filtered through the anger she felt now.

The policemen had begun to change…slowly. First shriveling—their arms and their legs—then stretching, their bellies and faces. Their human voices crying out in horror and fear shaping into shriller, sharper sounds. Sounds that were not human, but nonetheless terrible and filled with pain.

Willow Rosenberg was giving them all a taste of their own medicine, in the slowest, most deliberate way possible.

She was causing pain.

She shouldn't be able to do this. Willow knew the transmutation spell—from rat to human—because of Amy. But she shouldn't be able to cast the spell in reverse without components. She shouldn't be able to draw on a well of pure power and ignore all the magical laws she knew. It may be, Willow considered, that natural magic required nature—blood, feathers, herbs—but that this…this was unnatural. So what it required was energy and will.

Giles had never told her about this kind of magic. Not really. And he'd never—in any of their lessons—told her that wielding power could be so exhilarating.

It was a moment that changed everything.

But not because this was the first time Willow had wielded such great amounts of dark magicks, though this was certainly true. But because in the midst of all the rage, Tara Maclay laid a hand on Willow's shoulder.

Into the redhead another kind of magic was cast. Tara gave Willow some of her vision. Not because Willow's heart wasn't strong enough to see on its own. But because it was so easy to become blind. To forget who you were, in a world where what you loved could be threatened so deeply, and so easily. And so Tara allowed just a moment of respite from the anger. She moved closer to the reporter, laying both hands on her shoulders and whispering an incantation to help her see without the anger.

And she saw, in the eyes of the creatures before her—still at least half human—all the pain she was inflicting. She thought of Buffy and Xander. And Giles.

She knew too, what this was. What this taste could allow her to become, should she simply embrace the power that she so clearly was being shown she possessed. It was the strongest, darkest spell she had ever cast. And it was an open doorway. Power so deliciously raw and vibrant that using it practically made her tremble in excitement. She felt as if something within her had been unleashed. And all she had to do was not rein it in. To let it guide her.

The world that didn't care about her best friend dying to save it would pay.

The world that would humiliate someone as beautiful as Tara Maclay could be brought to its knees.

She had thought, for a long time, that she didn't have this in her. This capacity to hurt, this ability to hate. She'd been lying to herself. It was there—so dark and inviting inside her.

But so was…so was her abundance of heart. Love and forgiveness—blind and undiluted—still beat within her. Just as strongly. And they were their own kind of power. They were as strong as the darkness. But they required the courage to give second chances, to show compassion, and kindness—even to those…especially to those who didn't deserve it.

Willow leaned back into Tara, shaking, and allowed her heart to have its way.

She felt gentle, tender kisses at her brow and arms, slim and soft, gathered her close.

"I don't want to hurt anyone." Willow whispered brokenly.

"I know." Tara murmured into her ear, and hugged her tighter.

_The courage to give second chances…compassion and kindness…even to those who didn't deserve it._

It occurred to Willow then that Tara Maclay was the best part of her heart come to life.

The blonde's touch drifted lightly down Willow's arm. Soon Tara was grasping her hand, and lifting it so that—together—they raised their arms and pointed to the policemen. Their powers—Tara's the very embodiment of deliberate patience, and Willow's, creative and hopeful and enthusiastic—merged. This again, was something new. Energy flowed from them, and mingled, and was replaced by something else. Something more powerful than what had been cast from them. Usually prolonged magic made Willow feel exhausted, but now she felt that she was being held just above the rushing waters of fear, on the edge of joy—in a place where there was no such thing as the impossible.

It became a question not of forcing her will, but of accepting that she could ask certain things of the world around her. She allowed her eyes to close. She was surrounded by Tara's courage, cocooned in it. It allowed her own strength to surge without restraint, without doubt. The sources of who they were essentially, and therefore what drove their separate magicks, combined, and merged. They felt as if they were tumbling down together, slowly, from a great height. Their bodies intertwined in an almost weightless feather-fall. At the same time, they both felt held. Caught. Sheltered. As if they would never fall again, and if they did—it would be together, and that made it all right.

The policemen changed back into what they were. But that resolved nothing. Willow had started this to stop them and it was just to do so. It was a product of good to want to help the women who had been brought here. So now, she took the lead, and she felt the shift of it. The magic they directed was still benevolent.

One by one, the officers fell into a sleep. All of them. Finally Willow and Tara lowered their arms.

With fear in her eyes, Willow turned to the other woman. She feared being judged, being condemned. Despite the light kisses earlier…Tara had seen…something she barely admitted to herself. The darkness inside her was there. Even if she didn't want it to be. And sometimes, it was her instinct to turn to that side of her first. Just sometimes.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me." She told the woman who faced her.

"I am." Tara said but then smiled. "You hold m-my heart…here." She said, and she caressed Willow's palm. "I've never given anyone my heart b-before."

"I'll take care of it." Willow whispered.

 

* * *

 

Sirens blazed, and four police cars pulled up onto the beach just then. Tara recognized the occupant of one car—Xander. Xander, who had apparently brought reinforcements.

One of them, an older police officer, looked at the scene in awe. Cops and half-dressed women sprawled on the sand. At first there was some concern but soon a loud snoring could be heard from the Lieutenant. Just to make sure, several of the officers checked the others. All asleep.

"Miss?" The older police officer called out to Tara. "Someone want to explain to me what happened here?" The two witches turned to him, holding hands. That, at least, didn't seem to faze him. He was the type of guy, Tara thought, who had seen a lot in his time on the force.

Xander approached with a couple of blankets. He offered one to Willow then to Tara. "You two okay?" He asked in concern. The sight of them only partially dressed had stirred a protective, fierce anger in him.

"Harris." the Captain addressed him. "All these women were arrested back at that bar?"

"Yes sir," was the answer.

"And they were brought here?" The Captain looked at his fellow officer sharply. "That's what you're sayin'?"

"That's the t-truth," Tara said firmly, despite her stutter, not allowing any doubt to linger about what had happened.

The Captain looked away. "This puts all of us in quite a spot," he said slowly. "I think it's all for the best if I pretend you didn't say that. But that doesn't mean I don't have questions."

Xander turned to his commanding officer. "Captain…it's been a long night. Unless we're going to write up a full report on this, maybe we should just get everybody home."

The Captain frowned and his eyes took in the scene again. "Boys, get the women covered up. Put 'em in the wagon. We'll drop them by the hospital. As for our brothers, get them undressed. All the way. Take their weapons. I reckon that will be one hell of a way to wake up. Let them explain that one to the Chief."

Several of the officers laughed, and moved to do what they'd been told.

"Harris," the Captain called. The young man paused just as he was about to lead Willow and Tara away. "You'd better clear out. If anyone asks, you were never here. You don't need the Lieutenant as an enemy. Especially not over this. I don't like what these boys did. But…" His face twisted with distaste. "Don't mean I think what these women do is natural. I'll do what I can to make sure things don't go too far—but we'll probably be shutting that place down again in a couple weeks. If I was your friends, I'd stay clear." He tipped his cap to Willow and Tara then. "In the meantime, we'll deal with our own."

Xander sighed. Tara could tell he was frustrated by that answer. As was she. Maybe on another night she would have insisted on pressing charges. Maybe someone stronger would have. But all she felt was tired. And these officers—the ones who had abused their power—they were having a measure of justice extracted against them. That was something, wasn't it?

"We'll s-see you in a couple weeks th-then." Tara said finally. Then with resolve, her chin lifting. "We're n-not going anywhere, Captain."

That answer made him sigh and then stalk off.

Xander and Willow, on the other hand, grinned at her.

 

* * *

 

There was an odd tension about the car ride. A silence where none of the occupants of the car knew exactly what to say, exactly how to feel. Xander kept changing the radio station. Fidgeting. Never leaving it anywhere longer than a minute. Switching it off in disgust. Turning it on again a few moments later.

 _We won, didn't we?_  Willow thought.

So then, why no sense of triumph? No feeling of relief or…victory?

There was just weariness.

In some ways, fighting monsters on the Hellmouth had been easier. She had known who the bad guys and the monsters were. Why had it taken human beings to let loose the monster in herself?

And Tara had seen.

She felt like curling into a small ball and lying in bed for hours. On the beach, the policemen made her strip down to her underwear. She had been cold. Cold and vulnerable. She was colder now. And she felt as if her heart and soul were on her sleeve. There was no energy left to hide or protect…or even to try and pretend that something inside her hadn't come close to cracking tonight. No brave Willow face. Nothing but a dull pain that filled her, and that she couldn't keep from her eyes. Nothing but feeling tired.

And one last thing. Because Tara was holding her hand. Still. There was a glimmer of hope. An idea somewhere in her heart that she would get through tonight and that tomorrow might be better.

They were on separate sides of the car—she and the woman she had met earlier. Both of them looking out separate car windows and lost in their own thoughts. But their hands never left one another.

"The plan was if anything happened…started to happen…" Xander had said all this before. At the beginning of the car ride, and then again a little later. "Willow would get out of there. And I thought I would arrest a few people. Or at least pretend to. I figured on one car. I figured a couple of arrests would probably make them back off. Especially if I was on the scene first. And if they did get…bad…I thought maybe it would just be words. I figured I could stop them if it…"

"It's alright Xander." Willow murmured to him quietly. She even managed the emotional reserves to reach up her free hand and touch his shoulder. He sounded so panicked. And like he was filled with self-loathing.

"Protect Willow. Make sure things didn't get out of hand while I was standing there. That was the plan." It was like he hadn't heard her. He shook his head. "Maybe I should have…" He pounded the steering wheel lightly. "I should have done something."

"Xander?" Tara said his name quietly but firmly. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and her gaze held his. "You d-did do something." She managed a smile at him, and somehow this made them all feel a bit more easy. His own lips lifted in a grateful expression.

"Are we actually going anywhere?" Willow asked suddenly. They had been driving for a while.

"Didn't I tell you? I thought I told you. I meant to tell you. We're going to see the Old Man. My fellow officers probably won't be making any kind of report out on this one. But just in case, you two should go somewhere and lay low for a few days."

"Bunch of dorky cops naked on the beach, if they do it will be a 'short' report," Willow said. It was an awkward attempt at humor, a clawing back toward normality. Xander raised a brow. "Get it? Short? Because ya know…of the…um…shortness. Not that I was looking. Because I'm not into short. I mean, if I was, it certainly doesn't appeal to me now. Not that I meant small people because I'm not exactly King Kong or anything. I mean, no batting airplanes out of the sky for me. I meant, short things and…"

Xander's smile came again. Like Willow's, it was a little forced. But not false. He shot Tara an amused glance in the mirror. "Sometimes," he revealed to the blonde. "Willow confuses herself. She's kind of a force of nature."

The force of nature in question slapped at his shoulder lightly. "No fair giving away my secrets like that."

"One of these days," Xander said, "Remind me to mention how many times she's seen Barberella."

"Lies." Willow said quickly, looking horrified—but oddly flushing. "All lies. Can't trust the fuzz. Down with the man. And um go flower power?"

The silence settled around them again soon after that. It was still tense, but each of them found it a little easier to carry. The beach seemed farther away, and Willow felt stronger. She was surrounded by people who cared about her. And they were going to a safe place. Maybe she could start to process it all there.

Meeting Tara.

Kissing Tara.

And the beach.

And the beach.

Her burgeoning sense of ease faded. She shut her eyes and laid her brow against the cool glass of the window.

She wondered if she could find time tonight to get away and cry. Just cry and cry, letting it all pour from her. 

She had enough experience with pain to know that such a simplicity—that one good cry could begin to bind a tattered night—wasn't true.

And whether the officers and their conduct or her own rage had disturbed her more she couldn't say.

Tara was still holding her hand.

Xander began, once again, to play with the radio.


	6. Chapter 6

Rupert Giles silently regarded the two women, and then he stood abruptly. It was an explosion of motion, almost violent in its suddenness. All of them—Willow and Tara, who sat side by side on the couch not touching, and Xander who was leaning back against the wall—waited. They could all see his mind racing. The set of his jaw was tight, the expression of someone who wanted to take action. To defend the ones he loved, to seek justice. There was a father's anger in his eyes. Fierce and uncalculated. But there was weariness too, because he knew there was nothing he could do about the wrong that had been done. No way to go back in time and stop it from happening. No real means of seeking justice when those empowered to protect society lived in a society that sanctioned certain actions and certain prejudices.

It was natural that he be upset, Tara thought, but the others were counting on him for something. Their gazes were expectant. And as Willow had told the tale of what had happened tonight, something—a hesitation and a fear—that had nothing to do with the actual recounting hung in her words. Tara intuitively knew this had to be handled carefully. She wondered if the Englishman knew how much, how very much Willow seemed to value his opinion.

Tara had been surprised when in the driveway of Mr. Giles's house there was a 1967 cherry red convertible Impala. Xander had—after all—kept referring to the person they were going to see as 'the old man.' The person that opened the door was taller than she expected, admittedly with graying tips to his hair. His gaze at first was stern—but as he looked upon Willow and Xander and it grew clear something had happened there was only worry. He'd worried like this before. Tara saw the lines of it around his eyes and mouth. It reminded her of Willow and, in an afterthought, of Xander. The concern he felt didn't seem to have the rawness it might, if it was something he was unused to. Rupert Giles spent a lot of time worrying about these two, and had for quite a while. Tara, who was new to the trio's dynamic, could sense an authority to the man without fully understanding why. She knew that Willow seemed to depend on him, that his presence had seemed to bolster her, much as Xander's presence did.

The agitation in the Englishman was suddenly and carefully harnessed. He hadn't spoken throughout the entire retelling. But he did now. "You must never cast out of anger, Willow." His words were just above the volume of a murmur.

It was not a harsh rebuke. It was the voice of a man whose heart was not in what he was saying. The words had no heat, just a kind of quiet sadness. He was voicing not what he wanted to say, but what he thought he should say. What he believed needed to be said now, in the aftermath of everything. Perhaps he felt that all that was left for him to do, if he could not truly ever protect those he loved, was to try and guide them.

"I couldn't…" The witch he had addressed said in a voice that was barely audible. "I couldn't help it. I had to do something."

"Uncontrolled power is always dangerous." Giles continued gently, still with no fervor to his words. He sounded like a teacher now or perhaps still a father, Tara thought. Still concerned and angry, trying to pull Willow from the wreckage of the night in the only way he knew how.

"But…" Willow stopped, not wanting to contradict a man that in many ways had been her mentor. But his look was expectant and open. She continued with a swallow. "I-I felt in control. I'm not sure I have ever felt so in control. And I didn't have to use any components."

"Anger was the component." He replied. Tara nodded inwardly at that. She wasn't sure that she knew more about magic than Willow did, but that seemed to fall in line with what she did know.

"Anger was the component?" The redhead echoed in disbelief. Her words were a testament to the unfairness she was feeling. "Giles, I've never seen that in any spell book anywhere, and I've read all the ones you gave me. I mean it just doesn't say 'in order for this spell to work, the caster must have a sunny disposition.'"

"Perhaps I should have said," The Englishman tried again. "that the component was you and your rather volatile surge of energy. We use components, Willow, not because we have to…Well, we have to on some occasions…but not for  _all_ spells. Not in all situations, which is the important point."

He frowned at himself, even as he tried to explain—as if he was trying to condense a great deal of information and was finding it close to impossible to be sure he was explaining properly. "The use of herbs and other things is usually a matter of energy and sacrifice. Both are offerings for the natural and supernatural world. They enhance or serve as vessels. Conduits for magic. In this case it seems  _you_ were the direct conduit. And if there was no sacrifice, no offering made, it means something is unbalanced, Willow. Magic may forgive you that. Or it may demand payment in a way you least expect. There may be unseen things that you released tonight that you aren't…"

"Well that's just great," Xander interrupted. "Once again the skankiness of the universe rears its ugly head. Willow had a right to be angry. She had a right to feel like lashing out."

As they'd told the older man everything, Xander, who hadn't known the extent of what had happened at the beach, had begun to pace. But now he was leaning against the far wall, holding himself very, very still.

Xander's lips were pressed in a grim line. He looked paler than before. His eyes were filled once again with the same self-loathing he'd expressed in the car. He was watching Giles as intently as Willow was.

This police officer had risked quite a bit tonight, Tara realized. Certainly his reputation and his job. The whole thing could have, and might still backfire. Cops protected their own, and she could only imagine what they might do to someone who they felt had betrayed them. Turned on them.

Especially over a gay bar.

"Xander," Giles began with a grim expression, still speaking quietly. But now something was cracking through the teacher's mask he had taken on. He was, Tara realized, fighting the only battle of the evening that he felt was left to fight. "What I am telling Willow is for her own safety as well as others."

She thought she understood what he was trying to do. Because she had been there on the beach. She had seen Willow's rage. No one in the world would have blamed Willow had she continued. Not even Tara herself. Which was frightening. When it had all begun to happen and she recognized the energy seizing the air as a spell...part of her had hesitated, had been inclined to let Willow finish.

It would have been right. No, no, it would have  _served_ them right. It was what they deserved.

But then another kind of anger had stirred inside her.

She had battled to leave her father's house and come to college. Because she was determined that Tara Maclay carve out more of a destiny for herself then to be the quiet mouse of a girl, who when she was old enough, married and became the perfect wife. She left because if she had stayed her father would have eventually broken her spirit and she wouldn't have been able to stop him. She refused to be his creation.

She had gone to the bar tonight, because again, she had felt her own life slipping away from her. She had read too many books with too many sad endings, maybe. But to surrender to resignation was no better than being shaped by fear. Fear of others being impatient with or mocking her stutter. Fear of trying and failing. Fear of losing her father. His love always seemed based on her following his will to the letter. So easy to lose.

So many things were like that.

And she had kissed Willow tonight because she refused to lose another thing, another moment, another breath by inaction.

She was Tara Maclay and she would be her own creation.

And Tara Maclay would be dammed if she would let the men on the beach have the last victory over Willow. Rage was a fiercer carver of the heart than almost anything, save perhaps love.

She had seen Willow Rosenberg's heart and she would not let that vibrant stained glass be cracked by men who needed to round up their victims in the dark. Men with guns and power who had to threaten their half-naked prey in remote places. They would not take that heart. They would not change it.

And she knew stopping Willow wasn't in her power. Willow's magic was a wild herd let loose. Tara did not have the power to rein it in. Tara had cast a spell in answer to that raging that was little more than a glamour. A beginner could have performed that spell. It had altered nothing save a few moments where she had let Willow see through her eyes. There had been the very real possibility that such a brief glimpse wouldn't be enough. That Willow would brush it aside or ignore it.

But Tara knew Willow Rosenberg, or at least she felt she did. From the moment they had first met. When they had gone outside and were speaking with Xander. When Willow had come back for her.

 _And what if, what if the worst had happened,_ she asked herself now that it was safe to do so.

Even that wouldn't have made her walk away, she realized. Not while those eyes shone with the fierce desire to do the right thing, and offered within them endless empathy.

She had simply—in the end—trusted this woman at her side.

She had seen her heart, and trusted, and the best part was that she hadn't been wrong.

"All she did," The young man was growling. "Was to give them a taste of their own medicine. They deserved everything they got. And those guys are lucky I'm not the one with the bippity boppity boo because if I could have, I'd have used every spell in the book until they never touched another woman again."

"You are familiar with the law." The other man replied intensely. "You don't take your gun and shoot all the criminals you see, not even when you don't think they have been properly punished, do you?" The older man slid his hands into his pockets. "Magic has its own laws."

Xander pushed off the wall, his hands flexing as if he felt the need to do something—anything. "Well, it'd be swell if those laws actually helped the good guys for once, instead of tying our hands…."

"I understand that all of you have reason—good reason—to be angry…"

"She st-stopped. Willow…stopped." Tara said loud as she dared, interrupting the men. It was, in her mind, the most important thing. As she said it, she knew she was trying to defend Willow—but it felt natural to do that. Tara allowed herself that impulse. She didn't dare look at the woman sitting beside her though. Stop an argument between two strangers, sure. Catch the eyes of the woman she - um - had kissed…that was far too dangerous.

Tara inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. But they had all been through a lot tonight, so maybe such quirks as shyness in all the wrong things was a failing that had been well earned. At least for tonight.

"Yes," Giles agreed wryly after a moment. "There is that." The blond could see him struggle to hold back his emotions again. He had felt it was a necessity, she thought, to be strong for them. But he couldn't maintain that mask forever. Because they were more than his students. Tara saw his show of strength fall away, and what was left was a man who was afraid for them. "I am terribly sorry for what you've been through tonight Willow, Tara. What happened is unthinkably wrong."

Rupert Giles moved toward the two women, sitting on the coffee table and touching the reporter's hand. He looked up at Xander and then back to the young women in front of him. He was weighing what he would say next, Tara could feel it. And in that, she knew that he did know how much they depended on him.

It made sense, her dream, having this kind of loyalty as well as returning it. Reacting and offering such things as if it was commonplace. It was part of what she'd sensed upon first meeting Willow. The necessity of smiling through pain. The strength to find things to smile about, despite the pain. It was shared pain, Tara believed in her soul, that bound these three friends. But it was laughter and trust that made the friendship something not only of the past, but of the present. Of the future.

Willow would do what she thought was best in the end. She didn't seek to meet anyone else's standards of right and wrong. Still, the opinion of the person who sat before her mattered. Because she trusted him. She trusted him with her pain and with a part of her heart.

Tara contemplated that, knowing somehow that what Willow was giving Rupert Giles—that respect—had been earned. 

"The world isn't perfect." Giles said finally. "But it can be made better. And not just by those who are born to certain destinies. Not just by taking extreme actions." He turned to Xander again. The police officer had lowered his head, his chin almost touching his chest. The blonde watched the anger drain from the officer. He'd wanted to argue—because it was an action. Something he could do. A blockade from the admission of his own helplessness. But there was nothing to fight now. Not here. "Don't let tonight be what shapes you." The older man went on, his voice was an insistent, slow drumbeat in a hushed room. He was calling to them, as if from a great distance, to try and hear not just his words, but how much he meant them. "Leave that to what you hope the world could be." Again, he pivoted to Willow, and in his eyes was his heart aching for all of them. "What you believe it one day might be."

Xander moved toward where the rest of them sat, as if he could no longer stand to be separated from them, even if it was just across the room. He sank down slowly in the easy chair near the couch. Willow leaned forward and did what she hadn't been able to do until now, tears falling from her eyes and her shoulders shaking.

Relief was what Tara felt. What she thought Willow felt as well. Relief that someone could hear about the events of the night, and still have faith. Faith in them. Faith in that vibrant thread ever waiting to be woven that was human potential.

And Tara, who had never been one to hide from her feelings, and whose own well of faith was emptier than it had been in a long time, felt a quiet renewal begin.

 

* * *

  

_Could be's and might be's. The shape of an unseen world._

Willow entered the room carrying clean linens and a blanket. She'd heard Tara emerge from the shower a few minutes ago, but had wanted to give her time. Not that she imagined it would take long for the blonde to change into the loaner shorts and shirt she had been given by Xander. He lived closest, after all. He had promised to take both Tara and Willow by their apartments tomorrow so they could pick up what he referred to as 'gear.' Xander liked talking that way, whenever he could.

He'd been shocked by what had happened tonight. He'd tried to warned her of the dangers, but…some part of him had still been horribly surprised. A fear with-in him had been re-opened—raw and bare. Something about his eyes that had reminded her…of his demeanor when Buffy died. That kind of feeling of helplessness. She should tell him when she got the chance, that…

…that Buffy would have been proud of him tonight.

And what would Buffy have thought of her actions? She felt a brief, sudden flash if humor. Her actions both  _inside_ the bar…and then after.

_Could be's and might be's._

Earlier she'd been full of vengeance. And perhaps rightfully so. Full of power. Frighteningly so. Exhilaratingly so.

But greater than all that was the moment when she had shared a kiss with the woman who now sat motionless on the bed. Tara seemed lost in her own thoughts. She hadn't looked up when the door opened. Even now, her eyes were fixed on a point, on a place outside the room.

Which was all right, because Willow needed a moment too.

_Why this need to gather her courage before seeing Tara again?_

Should be's were filling her mind, as they had been since leaving the beach. Should she have insisted on filing a report? Should she have said more to the captain?

Tara had been so brave.

No, it was more than all that making her hesitate. More than tonight's events. Tara had said that Willow held her heart. But there was so much that Tara didn't know. Willow sighed, thinking about how neurotic she could be. She could over-plan, and over think. She could be stubborn as a mule. She could be…cowardly. When it came to taking chances. When it came to risk.

She could be arrogant, sometimes refusing to listen, sometimes refusing to believe until she saw it for herself; did it for herself.

_Could be's and might be's._

_The shape of an unseen world._

More than any of this, she was used to being  _alone._

Maybe not in practice. There was Xander, and Giles…and when Buffy had been alive…there'd always been the four of them. But the doubts of her heart, her pained questions and desperate thoughts. The fears that made her work oh-so-hard in the light of day. Some that she had conquered, but others that still made guest appearances in her mind's eyes. And new fears, new questions…new ideas of failure.

After Buffy had died, she had felt lost for quite some time, trying to rebuild who she believed herself to be. Sometimes this new Willow—this person she had gathered together—seemed so much less.

She thought of the feel of Tara's magic, flowing focused and clear—waiting…like a stream of water waiting to be allowed permission to branch into another stream. And when their magic had mingled, there had been warmth, and the pulse of certainty in their casting. The elegance and grace that magic should be, should always be, but that Willow—bright and talented as she was—had never captured on her own. Magic, made complete.

But how often could Willow do that? She was used to trying to control what she could. How much she learned, and how quickly. And always the desire for more. Never feeling entirely satisfied with who she was or what she did, or what she could do.

It was when she had that thought, dancing in her mind and reflecting in her eyes, that Tara turned towards her.

Blonde hair, damp from the shower, fell in soft strands down past her shoulders. Pale skin against a red weathered shirt that was two sizes too big for her. They stood there and watched each other.

"It's…it's been a long night." Tara said slowly, and Willow nodded, unable to say anything, feeling a knot in her throat. "We d-don't have to…I mean, I k-know that you s-said you wanted to share a room…but if you'd rather…"

Soft blue eyes, why did they seem ethereal? Like an angel's eyes? So…clear…and full of quiet strength. "I was just thinking…about what Giles said." Willow told her softly. "About tonight…I know what he means…about not letting it…" She shook her head at herself. That wasn't the right beginning. It wasn't even what she wanted to say. There was so much to say. There was just no place to start. "I don't usually…what I did tonight…I don't usually cast like that."

The blonde witch stood and moved toward her. She took away the linens and set them down on the bed. Then she laid her hand over Willow's. "I know." Fingertips brushed and then held on. Just like at the bar. Just like on the way here. And now…

And now…

"I don't want to forget everything about tonight. Not everything." The reporter said. "Do you?"

_Could be's and might be's._

Willow searched Tara's eyes.

_The shape of an unseen world._

Tara shook her head in the negative, and her lips lifted in a breathtaking smile.

"I just…" The redhead swallowed, part of her trying to stop the words, and part of her fighting to say them. "I just wonder if you know what you've gotten yourself into, here. My history is sort of…um…complicated. I'm sort of…complicated."

The woman that held her heart didn't cease that smile…that smile that made her pulse quicken, and her heart shout glorious things. That smile that made her soul feel like that of a poet. Wonder and passion…and the ability to create worlds.

"I kind of f-figured." Tara admitted. "I'm not so complicated…I'm... I'm just m-me."

They were near a kiss, both still hesitating, on the edge of giving up that final distance…again. Tara couldn't remember a time, before tonight, when she'd been so close to a kiss. And who knew where a kiss might lead…here…now.

Tonight. After so much had happened. Her heart was still feeling partially numbed by it. And she wanted it not to be.

The slightest touch from Willow made her feel so much…

She was realizing that as much as she had believed that she had known about love—after all the reading and all the daydreams—she knew so little. She hadn't known how it could hold you so close yet so far away. How she would rise and fall to the rhythm of someone else. How she could feel as if she was standing on tiptoes, stretching her hand out to reach something…feeling her fingers brush…and brush.

But that was what she expected. All her life…things had been just out of reach. And even now, what she was used to…what she understood…was someone looking at what she offered, and deciding that it wasn't enough. So she was giving Willow excuses, chances to walk away.

She'd changed from the young woman who had left home in one act of desperate rebellion. Sunnydale wasn't exactly the big city, but it had felt that way compared to life back there. But things followed you sometimes, no matter how much you grew.

'Just Tara,' she could hear her brother and father say.  **Just** Tara…she's shy. Her teachers, and even her friends always stressed the 'just'. Just Tara…the calm, thoughtful, obedient one. The quiet one. Just Tara.

But…she was studying hard in college now, and doing well. She had managed to scrape together enough money to get an apartment by taking a part time job as a librarian's assistant. And she'd been ecstatic. Proud of herself, for doing anything to shake herself out of what people expected of her. Even if the reach wasn't that far removed from what others had predicted. Close…but not exact. Small triumphs were all she had, little moments when she was no longer that paper image, cut out by the others in her life so long ago.

All of this was the truth of her life.

And so there was no reason that Willow Rosenberg's eyes should be shining when they looked at her, and yet they were.

She'd done nothing to earn words of love or small touches…and yet…

Willow's thumb was grazing her fingertips, trailing over her palm.

Oh, shining, luminous green eyes…and the feel of the woman she had dreamed of stepping yet closer. Their bodies brushing like lightning over a dark sky, charged and sharp. A feel of brimming things rising to the surface without quelling. Her heart expanding as Willow leaned in and grazed her cheek with her own. Tara's own hands rising and running over that face that now was the source of aching in her heart…tracing around the lips that parted for her, that had …earlier…kissed her again and again till she felt like she was drowning. The sultry heat of quickened breathing spreading over her fingertips. Tara thinking to herself that Willow didn't know…didn't know…didn't know…

That she was just…

* * *

 

 

 _I'm not so complicated…I'm... I'm just m-me,_ Tara had said.

Willow felt like closing the space between them and drawing her into a kiss. One kiss and then another, until Tara knew there was no 'just'…no such thing, not when it came to her. But she couldn't quite find the courage to act on her heart's desire again.

Not without…making sure...

"Tara?" Willow murmured almost reverently.

"Yes, Willow?"

"I…really…kind of want to kiss you."

"Um....Are you s-s-sure?…H-how do you know y-y-you're really attracted to me?" Tara asked suddenly. It was a serious enough question to just penetrate the haze Willow had begun to feel. Not her fault, really. Tara was much too close…she blinked a few times, and felt as if she was trying to regain her balance. But it was no use, she didn't feel steady, didn't want to. She fought for words…and almost laughed at herself. Since when did she have a hard time finding words?

It required a serious answer, that question. So Willow considered things for a moment and answered as honestly as she could. "I feel it when I look at you. Here and here…" Willow touched her tummy and then laid a hand over her heart. "And…um… in other places I'm not sure we're supposed to talk about yet."

High color rose in both their cheeks, but their eyes stayed locked. "It's been a long night." Tara said again, in a quieter tone, almost a whisper. So uncertain—she looked so uncertain right now, Willow noted to herself. "It's easy to get…carried away. I mean, I f-feel like I could…now."

"I feel it too." Willow told her softly, unwilling to leave her on that ledge of admission alone.

Knots—pride, integrity, compassion—those things that held you together, kept you strong, tied the fragments of you into a whole. Pain and loss and fear could pull the strongest ropes free, unravel them. There was a weakening that had happened, and neither woman could deny that. But new love was embodied in one another, and hope spoke promises in their souls that such torn places could be repaired, or rewoven.

"It's all happening so fast."

There was a hesitation, a lump in Willow's throat. Words seemed awkward, useless things that were pushed away. An intangible force guarding the bond between them, pulling them ever toward one another. Beyond reason or protocol or even logic, which both of them held dear. Willow felt the ache to draw Tara close. But she didn't move. Couldn't move yet. Both their fears still suspending them between here and there.

"Are you afraid tomorrow I might…change my mind?"

"A little." Tara answered quietly "It happens. I mean, I t-t-think it does. Sometimes people get confused. Kind of like…getting lost in the heat of the moment? And…even if...Willow, what you saw tonight with the police. It can be like that sometimes. I mean, other people can be like that. People aren't always so d-direct but…things can h-happen, cruel things, unfair things. It's not easy being different. For some people it's too much."

Willow saw it all hit her. Memories. Small and large. And the last one of tonight…The faces…leering men and rough, taunting voices. They both hated the memory, the feeling of humiliation—burning so deep inside them, branded there. But Tara let Willow see the pain of everything, all of it.

Willow was watching her, not letting go, and Tara could feel Willow's chest move with the almost painful rush of hitched, rapid breathing. Breathless, because somehow Willow saw her as beautiful, as…more, so much more than she had ever seen herself. And it was possible she was…or maybe that she could be…or maybe…

Maybe…

Who was this person tonight who had told a police captain that she…that others weren't going anywhere? She was the person who had stood in the middle of a bar, all eyes on her, and made out with—there wasn't any other wording that fit what she'd done—someone who was practically a stranger.

Tara had held Willow close, when she should have been terrified of her. She'd used compassion against those who'd sought to beat her mind and body into submission. It hadn't been a perfect stand. She was convinced she could have and should have done more. But the fact remained that she had done  _something._  For once. And she knew now that she could stand against those who meant to inflict cruelty, and that she didn't have to surrender to them. Not completely. Not ever again. She was stronger now. Because—in the end—she'd stayed true to herself and because…of Willow.

She had found something inside herself tonight, and it had been partially because there'd been no time to think. No, not to think…to doubt. To second-guess herself…as she almost always did.

It was an amazing idea really, that she could be brave.

_Could be's and might be's._

"I want you to stay." The blonde confessed guilelessly. "But if you don't believe there's more than one night here, I…I need you to go."

Willow reached up and brushed away a tear that had formed at the corner of honest blue eyes. Another had escaped her attention and streaked down the blonde's face. Tara rubbed at her cheeks, and struggled for composure.

And again the reporter thought how brave Tara was.

"Are you sure you… " She couldn't finish. She felt too exposed…and too stricken. By what Tara was offering, by what was happening between them. She withdrew…but not far. Not far at all. She tried again. "I mean…are you okay? I mean, after everything that happened tonight on the beach. And…then there was me—all Brunhilda, queen of rodent doom."

"Brunhilda was actually a heroic figure." Tara answered and it was, of course, the most insane thing she could have said. But it made Willow smile, which had been her intention. "Willow," She began gently. "You're the o-only one I've ever wanted to share this with."

_They took something tonight. They took it and they burned it. But we can rebuild from the ashes. We will always be able to rebuild. Because that's what love is._

_And that's why that word…love…it's a statement and a promise. A promise to build, and rebuild, if we have to._

Suddenly there was strength in her, and she pressed a small, almost platonic kiss to Tara's forehead. "I…don't want to think. Maybe that's selfish." She felt herself nod, as if some part of her knew it was. Was sure it was. "It's just…my mind gets going and I analyze, and reanalyze and then double-check my analysis with an analysis of my analysis. I…Why can't we just hold on to the good things? So much feels…like a nightmare sometimes…but not you. You…this…feels...real. And this is what I hope could be. This is what I wish might be…I believe in this." Willow gave a small shrug, and took in a nervous breath. "And I…I don't think that's a bad start."

"N-not bad at all." Tara told Willow softly and there was a healing laughter in her tears.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danger smut ahead! You have been warned.

Tara had closed her eyes at the small, tender kiss she'd been given. They fluttered shut again, as she returned the light pressure, this time mouth to mouth, a whisper of a touch.

"I don't want to b-believe them." Tara confessed urgently, just before she kissed Willow again.

"Who?" Willow asked, looking for all the world as if she would personally fight off whoever was causing Tara distress.

Another kiss. Longer.

"All the books I've read. The men at the beach." Her forehead creased and she felt the numbness in her heart give way to pain. "My f-f-father."

"Believe me." The redhead said urgently, trying as best she could to cradle that pain. They shared yet another sweet, soft joining of their mouths. The pain fell away. The world became here and now. This room. This moment. There were no men on a dark deserted beach in her head anymore. No father who traded obedience for love. No heartbreaking stories of two women who could never, in the end, be together and happy.

"Believe this." Willow whispered, nuzzling at her earlobe, an exploratory touch. It was as if Willow was trying to figure out a puzzle, a nip against her ear and then a soft kiss just at the pulse point of her neck.

Tara wanted nothing more than Willow to make her feel this burning, to steal her away from pain and doubts.

_But yes…Willow had never…_

Another soft touch of that hot mouth…longer…lingering….

_...done this before._

Hands now joining the slow mission of seeking, of finding.

A husky sound of pleasure emanating from Willow as she pulled Tara's hips closer, so that their bodies molded together. And then she waited.

_Not that I have done this before either, Tara thought frantically, what I think we're going to do…_

This was all wrong of course. Falling in love; that was supposed to be a long, involved process. You had to compare goals, find out likes and dislikes. You had to communicate fears, and lay down boundaries. Especially before the 'making love' part. She'd always thought that picking someone up in a bar and taking them home—or going home with them—just wasn't the right way of going about things. Wasn't the best way.

But what was supposed to have happened, and all the rules that were sensible and logical—and were, she still believed, true—were also not true now. Maybe everyone meets one person who makes them feel like that, Tara considered. Some part of her was still fighting a losing battle for control, for reason.

She'd finally met someone who made her feel like throwing away all the logical, reasonable arguments. Maybe for this one person that was all okay.

_All of her life, just out of reach…_

There was no climbing, no transcending, no holding without risk. And she'd learned tonight that she could be brave when it mattered.

And this truly, deeply mattered.

"I love you." She told Willow softly. And then there was no more hesitation.

Tara kissed Willow again, and she breathed her in before diving down and down into another kiss. And, oh that feeling of drowning as kisses grew fevered. They sank onto the bed without either of them breaking away or ending the slow grinding foray of their mouths.

She just knew that she wanted to feel Willow's skin against her own. And her hands were nimble in this, they found the edges of the other woman's shirt and lifted it up and away. Soft lips—she could almost still feel, still taste them—were smiling at her. When she tried to pull her love close again the diminutive redhead didn't let her. Instead, Willow's own fingertips grazed down Tara's shirt, and pulled it away too.

No one had ever looked at her the way Willow was looking at her now. Possessive, and hungry. Starved and needing. Loving. She knew suddenly what it was like to be a planet in orbit around the sun. Needing, feeling the life-giving, life-returning warmth…depending on that same heat. To have no choice but to dwell within desire, to be pulled again and again toward it by a force that you were willingly helpless against.

They faltered again for just a moment. Half naked, kneeling on the bed, trying to gather together a few shallow breaths from the rushing storm of their bodies.

"You're beautiful, Tara." Willow said.

She couldn't answer. Her heart was too full.

She leaned in and kissed Willow's bare shoulder, and then feathered a kiss over her collarbone. Willow tilted her head back, and suddenly Tara was allowing her tongue to trace and tease and taste. Suddenly she was an explorer as well, as new to this as her partner for all her thinking that Willow didn't know…

Didn't know…

_God, she loved the way Willow tasted._

* * *

 

Tara's mouth was an exquisite torture. The reporter had never felt so overcome. Her roots had been plucked from the earth, she had been lifted high, and now she was shivering in the wind that was Tara.

_Shivering, shivering…_

That tongue weaving lines over her neck, and down her shoulders. A pause and an open-mouthed kiss. The pressure of sucking just briefly. Tara had reached around and removed her bra but she barely felt it. She only felt warmth. Tara's body. Tara's mouth the entire focal point of her existence.

She couldn't sit still, she was wriggling closer. And again that image of being almost insubstantial, without the strength to be solid and firm—she had become a flower of delicate stem. Tara was a teasing wind running over her, bending her. Making her…

_Shivering, shivering, shivering…_

And then the feel of Tara tasting her nipple, and her hands clenched as her body became taut. She reared her head back further and bit her lower lip, and became a wild thing of passion. She arched into Tara, and her love's thigh slid between her own. She heard herself moan. The contact was what she'd needed right then. It soothed her for the moment, even as Tara began to suckle, and flick her tongue. Slow, agonizingly slow. She was being heated deliberately. So that her water turned to steam and rose high. It made her feel as if she was going mad. But she loved it.

_Oh little flower in the wind, all your knowledge does you no good here and now._

Willow clung to Tara, hands moving first to her back and then to her hips, pulling her closer. Groaning at the pressure of their bodies pressing close and tight. And still Tara feasted. On one nipple and then the other, seeming to luxuriate in the tasting, as if Willow was an exotic sampling to be savored and that savoring could not be rushed. The contractions of Tara's mouth made her nipples swell harder and harder. She didn't dare open her eyes. She couldn't imagine what she looked like. Cheekbones flushed, hips pressed up while her back was bent to allow Tara everything she might want.

And then it was all too much, Willow pulled Tara's mouth back up to her own and kissed her…and god, it was almost violent…that kiss. She had to slow down, had to control the simmering inside her. The wind…the storm…the turbulence…The…

_Shivering…_

And suddenly the kiss felt like salvation, for Tara took her hands and led them down. She placed Willow's hands on her, and then it was Tara that was suddenly taut, tense, shivering…

Willow opened her eyes and Tara was looking at her. Total trust in that gaze. No one had ever looked at her like that before. And three words rose to her lips effortlessly. "I love you." She said. And then again. "I love you, Tara."

And her fingers began their own deliberations. And she watched Tara's eyes close.

"This is crazy," The reporter admitted in a murmur, watching the blonde's body begin to swell for her. "I don't believe in meeting someone and then falling into bed with them. "

Somehow Tara managed words. "N-neither do I." Her voice was husky and low. It was as much a testament to the way Willow was making her feel as her expression of pleasure, so intense that it could have been mistaken for pain.

"Should we stop?"

Only she didn't. Nor did she intend or want to. Her hands, her mouth descending, drawing in. Tasting for the first time, and understanding every bit of why Tara had luxuriated in this before. Only she wasn't quite as patient. Her mouth opened wider, unceasing in its quick strong pulls. But she was curious too, so she used her teeth—just a little—and then soothed the bite with delicate circles of the tip of her tongue.

"Please?" She heard Tara moan in a broken cry.

Which made her stop. Still so unsure about everything. Her skill. And the belief that this woman beneath her really, truly wanted her. "Tara?" She asked, her body and heart aching all at once. Afraid of what Tara would say next. Half-certain that reason had inevitably prevailed or that there had been some mistake, realized only, cruelly now. Sometimes things were like that. Often things were like that.

And it was with their eyes locked so, Willow's gaze a mix of worry and love, that Tara whispered. "Please, don't stop."

And she led Willow's hand again.

 

* * *

 

Tara had never in her life been so bold. She idly asked herself the same question she'd been asking all night—who was this person…

But even for her, who was good at thinking, it was hard to think when…

That small touch was enough to make her heartbeat reverberate throughout her entire body. The exhilarating throbbing rising from her, as if Willow was an ancient chief of some primal tribe and was calling her, calling her body, with a drum. The reporter's hand on her was tentative and slow. She could feel Willow's questioning gaze and forced herself to open her eyes to it. She hadn't even realized she'd closed her eyes.

One hand lifted and she caressed Willow's face and down into her hair. She ran kisses over Willow's shoulders.

Tara should be filled with more doubt. But she wasn't, which surprised her. She was used to doubting herself. She knew this woman wanted her, loved her. It shouldn't have been possible so quickly, so very quickly. Yet it was. She could see it in her eyes, and could feel it in the air between them. They would fall more in love, as time went on. She was sure of that, and it was a dizzying idea. They would grow together and shift and bend with the reed of time. They would change and fail and conquer. Or…at least they could. If they never let go…

Her eyes pleaded that thought,  _'don't let me go, green eyes.'_

Just being with Willow had given her a greater sense of herself than she'd ever had. Willow added to her. Willow did not clear away all the cobwebs of the past that she still kept in little rooms in her mind. They were still there, but light and hope had been added to those rooms. A new color of observation. Despite all that had happened, despite all she had been through before this night or during it, she still felt stronger with Willow than she ever had in her life. Love could do that, it could bridge a night like this one into tomorrow. It could take pain and make it glory.  _This,_ she realized,  _is what I was trying to fight for on the beach._

This.

"Do you…do you think we could have a h-happy ending?"

Willow withdrew her hand to Tara's hip, and then her thigh, resting it there, pausing. Her expression was tender. She laid Tara's hand over her heart. "I'm - I'm kind of betting on it."

This.

Their eyes glowed with joy, with hope, with believing.

This.

It was that simple and that complicated.

Tara pulled gently on that hand resting on her thigh, until it found the heat of her again, still so hot and eager.

"Willow, will you d-do something for me?"

"Anything."

The pleading was still half there. Her expression was full of need, love, and asking. Begging. Perhaps some insisting. "Kiss me?"

Their mouths found each other, and all the doubts and questions and pain swirled in that kiss but so did promises.

There were words then:

"Can I?"

"Please."

"More."

But that was all, all until Willow had undressed her, and found her ever so ready, slick with waiting and need. Her fingers running up and down slowly. Stroking over and around. And around again. And, oh, around again. And then, because Willow was oh so observant that stroking became constant. Her fingers rolling slowly that vulnerable place of coiled nerves that coiled tighter and tighter with every small touch.

 

* * *

 

It was easy to make love to Tara. Despite all the initial nervousness, and some apprehension when she realized she didn't know - exactly - what she was doing. She knew the semantics, of course. But that was postulation and it wasn't a beautiful woman bared to her sight, and opening wider to her purposeful fingertips.

She wanted to sink into Tara, pushing in deep and holding there. Waiting there. But she was distracted by Tara's low moans when she touched her clit. It was very distracting hearing the blonde say her name like that. Or give a gasp that was somewhere between surprise and surrender. And Willow, who had always been somewhat impatient about things, found that she had all the patience in the world.

She drew back from the place she'd been paying such lavish attention to up till now, and instead teased with the promise of entering. She circled, and applied just enough pressure but then again  _not_  enough pressure. She hinted at penetration again and again, but then pulled back. Until Tara took her wrist lightly and Willow kissed her gently, murmuring soothing words against her cheek.

And then she was inside. She did wait then…feeling Tara's body close…so hot… around her fingertips. Her own body pulsed in response. She bit her lower lip lightly at the pleasure of it, being drawn inside this woman she already loved and now was loving. She drew back, and then pushed inside again deeper - still slow. But now she wanted…she wanted… Something other than slow.

She pushed inside Tara again.

Again…

And again…

And every time, and every time, she felt her Tara contract around her fingers and her own body answered. That sharp pulse of her own desire twisted tighter, growing more intense. She kissed Tara heatedly, and it felt at times that their tongues were clashing against one another. Desire spiraling high in both of them, their needs harmonizing then crashing against one another, only to unify again.

She had never kissed anyone like this. So impossibly hungry, too hungry. So many feelings she couldn't hold them all in her mind. And so she was overcome, lost. Moving to join with and separate again and again from the woman she loved in that old echo of life.

Tara's hands had splayed against her back, and now they rolled into fists. They were holding Willow close. Her mouth was against Willow's cheek and her small cries were heated on Willow's earlobe and face. Pushing and pulling - in and out. Faster now. because Tara's hips were moving and asking and demanding. And because her body too had quickened beyond the point of caution.

Tara's body was molten, and Willow could feel her tense and tense pulled taut. Waiting. Waiting…

Wanting…

She was most of all, as Willow had earlier observed, beautiful. Every part of her. Everything.

"I love you." Willow sighed, and it was at that moment that Tara tumbled over the edge into bliss, her voice helplessly echoing Willow's words of love.

* * *

 

 

Tara found her favorite spot. The top of her head just brushing Willow's chin and her cheek pressed to the pillow of Willow's breast. This was, after all, where she could hear the steady, if rapid, twinned sound of a heartbeat. She thought, if only she could hear that sound each night as she slept, and be lucky enough to have it be the first thing she heard every morning—that all of her life would be replete with meaning.

Willow was not asleep, but rather still holding her tight. Had it been minutes or hours since she had been made to feel as if she was falling off the edge of the earth? Caught by Willow, and at the same time held by her all the way up, and all the way down. Tethered and guided by those small hands.

She felt herself blush.

She had been greedy. The way she had pushed against Willow and well, other signs her body had made. Not to mention her voice. .Her moans half muffled by Willow's kisses. 

All for the best. She had forgotten where she was. Whose house she was in.

Her own trembling had stopped, and soft kisses were being rained on the crown of her hair. But then she noticed that Willow's body, bare and pressed around her was too tense, and that even if she had stopped shivering, Willow still was.

She rose from those arms, and smiled at the soft protest this elicited from the redhead. But a wicked, loving smile was lifting her lips and thoughts were in her mind, desires in her soul that could not be denied. She took Willow's hands and kissed them, first one and then the other.

"Are you alright?" Willow asked.

"Almost perfect." Was the soothing answer.

"Almost?" She could see Willow's mind begin to swirl frantically. She could imagine Willow running through a mental checklist and wondering what had been missed. Willow was perhaps prone to worrying, Tara realized. "But - but - um...you seemed to kind of…enjoy it? I think? If not, if you tell me what I did wrong or maybe what I didn't do. If there's books somewhere, maybe not in the U.S.A, cause we're all repressed but maybe in France. They're progressive thinkers aren't they? The French?"

"There are books," Tara confirmed. "But you don't need them."

"Oh." And then with a smile. "Oh."

"You look very smug suddenly." Tara noted, with a mock stern expression.

Willow cleared her throat. "Sorry. Very sorry." Her expression still did not mirror her words. "So, if, everything's okay, can you come back here, please? I didn't tell you but I'm kind of a cuddler."

The combination of pouting and utter seriousness in the redhead's expression was endearing. "I promise you many, many cuddles." The blonde answered, just as seriously. "But I want you to do something for me."

"Cuddles aren't supposed to be conditional."

Tara's lips quirked upwards "My tyranny over the cuddles will only last a few minutes."

"Free the cuddles, I say!" Willow teased, then with an air of abdicating the point, she continued. "What can I for you, oh Queen of the cuddles?"

"You can come sit on the edge of the bed, Brunhilda." She paused after saying that. Afraid it would cause Willow to think and remember all the wrong things. But Willow's mind did not have that shadow now not now. Though there were questions in her gaze and Tara suspected just doing as she was told—without knowing why—wasn't easy for her. The reporter reached out when she was near enough and took Tara's hand. They sat there quietly for a moment. They did not look at each other, unexpectedly feel bashful. They were both thinking, and wondering, many things.

"This is a really good feeling." Willow said finally. Tara forced herself to look up. Those green eyes still sleepy with passion, none the less were filled with brightness and in them, she saw only hope and her own reflection. "Being with you, I mean."

She had needed that validation, and she hadn't even been aware of it. Reality had begun to creep in, and with it all of her doubts., all of her usual, practically comfortable doubts. "Do you think you could get used to it?"

And as she had said the words earlier, that same smile and those words rose up again. "I'm…kind of betting on it."

"I'm kind of betting on it too."

They shared a kiss. Tender and light, wrapping their arms around one another after and listening to the silence and the sound of one another breathing. Until Tara drew back again, and knelt down on the floor just before Willow. She nuzzled her lover's thigh, pressing her warm cheek there, rubbing there, her long hair tickling Willow's inner thigh.

She heard the reporter draw in a high, sharp breath. "You make me forget everything except you. Loving you. You did earlier tonight when you kissed me. You did just now. But we aren't totally alone in this house. We have to be very…" She kissed bare skin…light, open mouthed. "Very…" Her tongue swirled a slow, lazy circle downward. "Quiet. Can you do that?"

 

* * *

 

Willow had never found it within her capacity to demand anything. Honestly, it was often hard for her to even ask, unless she was sure the person in question might want to do what she was asking, or at the very least needed to do it for safety or in order to save the world…or something. But requests that were strictly personal, needs that she couldn't guarantee the reception of, she often tucked deep away, instead of voicing.

It was safer. Much better than rejection, so she had thought, is denial. Not that she liked denial. She was no good at self-denial at all. Willow knew very well that often when she felt hurt, or ignored, those hurt feelings could and would manifest themselves in other ways.

Occasionally in moping. But more often  in brooding. In getting away and sullenly thinking. Refusing to do much else, actually—for a time at least. Eventually she got over it, eventually she always did.

So her behavior since meeting Tara was surprising. Her ever-present hesitation and tentativeness was gone with this woman.

She'd asked for a kiss earlier. And then all but demanded cuddles. Which was unlike her.

But with Tara, it was alright.

Tara had seemed so shy at first. Just as hesitant. But…that too had passed into something else. A kind of comfort, a kind of confidence. What was blooming in the woman she loved was a new Tara, she thought: Tara unafraid, Tara loved, Tara trusted. The same was true of herself.

And heaven help her, there had been nothing shy about the way she had made love to Tara, or how she had kissed her or even the sliding movements of her fingers. Just as now, there was nothing irresolute about Tara's mouth. tracing paths against her inner thighs. Or Tara's hands that were drawing her apart. An image of a peach came to her mind, she was made ripe, plucked, and then devoured.

And there was nothing hesitant about the way Willow's fingers dove into Tara's hair, pressing her closer.

Tara's fingers pressed deep then, her tongue dancing slowly, repetitively, over the most sensitive part of Willow. It took all the self-control Willow had, had ever had to stop from crying out.

From screaming her girl's name.

Again and again and again.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The dream was dark and harsh. It was all shadows; the perception of faces, touches and violence with no specifics. There were fragmented feelings and sensations. A bristly, unshaven face sliding over her cheeks and burning – razor burn. The sensation of being held down. The sound of insistent laughter – and she knew that she was hearing the police at the beach – laughing again at her distress, just as they had earlier that night. The men that should have been her salvation acting as her tormentors. They should have been the ones she could always look to for help. She should have been able to trust them not to be cruel.

She knew the world was unfair. Her heart, ever gentle, was not foolish. Yet, she hadn't wanted to believe the stories. Sabby had told her, but her instinct had been to minimize the details.

Tonight, her subconscious mind was filling in all the blanks, and all the minimizations became worst case scenarios.

She felt herself trying to break free, using anger and indignation as a means to loose herself from the coils of nightmares. But although it allowed her to fight, it did not set her free.

Finally, in desperation, she could hear herself crying out a word. One bright word in the darkness of all her fears. It shouldn't have been enough, that one word, but it was.

It was enough to quiet her savagely beating heart, and soothe her into waking.

She awoke to a soft shape pressed against her, and a loving mouth nuzzled her throat and placed small kisses on her eyelids. Silken hair touched her fingers as she reached out.

Green eyes…

Green eyes…with a face.

Her dream made complete.

She opened her eyes, turning slightly, needing to see the woman who held her.

"Bad dream?" Willow asked.

Tara nodded silently and that beloved gaze met hers. "I d-didn't mean to wake you."

The reporter gave a tender smile. "I don't mind. But I…I'm sorry about the bad dreams. Can I help?"

Tara nodded again and ran her hand over Willow's cheek, letting the touch ground her. She moved so that she was above Willow, and feathered kisses over her jaw, before softly, sensuously claiming a kiss.

"Make it go away." Tara whispered before kissing her again, and her redheaded champion opened to her, their kiss deepening. The images from the dream were stilled and drifted away under her lover's fiery caresses. Willow made her be here – now…held close…safe. And in return she gave everything. She was transformed in Willow's arms into someone graceful and courageous…and beautiful.

Tenderness was a beacon of hope, and love became tangible.

She rose higher than she could have imagined and at the apex of passion, she leapt and soared…and fell gently back to the cradle of arms she trusted with her soul.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tara was asleep now. And with everything that had happened, Willow knew she should have been asleep as well. But she'd wanted to make sure there were no more nightmares. Tara deserved peace. And then…well she'd grown absorbed in watching the other woman sleep.

Even when her body demanded rest, her eyes struggled to stay open. She wasn't used to feeling the awe that holding Tara, that looking at Tara, stirred in her. Willow realized that it was the same wonder she felt when looking at the night sky. It was an understanding of a deeper grace.

Finally though, sleep took its due.

But not all night, and not for as long as it should have. She'd been blocking things out, and they too, demanded their comeuppance. Her mind had begun to move, slowly at first and then faster. Her finely tuned sense of logic trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

The bar…

The beach…

And even the presence of an incredible woman lying in her arms. Love had shown up where she'd least expected it, in a soul so blindingly honest and compassionate that she was overwhelmed.

It was her name Tara had called in deepest desire. It was her name she used when whispering words of love. So…beautiful. What she felt in her heart, and what she held, and the sound of that voice calling out to her.

But a thought occurred to her and once it was jingling noisily in her mind, there was no more rest to be found. This…was going to change so many things. It scared her. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to hold on. What would she do when people started looking at her, and judging? What would she do if people she loved…Giles…Xander…if…in time, they couldn't handle this thing that she'd stumbled across?

She supposed people carried love in secret sometimes.

But how could she? How could she be given a miracle on one of the darkest nights of her life and then live as if she was ashamed of that miracle?

But what if she wasn't strong enough to hold Tara's hand in the light of day…in front of the world if need be?

And if she wasn't…then she wasn't sure she was worthy of Tara and this gift that she had been given.

Tara had tried to tell her…

She shut her eyes tightly.

She had fought demons once, hadn't she?

Why did that all seem so far away now?

_'The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.'_

Buffy's last words to them all.

Buffy! She hadn't told Tara about Buffy!

What was she gonna do? That wasn't the type of thing you could just throw at someone AFTER you'd made love to them. That was most definitely a 'before' conversation item. Just in case the person in question wanted to run screaming from the room after you'd told them – or wanted to call for the nice men with the straitjackets.

There were times she felt as if her heart might break from the emptiness in her life where once a quirky, kick-ass, smart blonde had been.

But mostly…mostly she tried not to think about her.

After Buffy had died, she'd forgotten – slowly – a part of who she was. They all had. They'd had to rebuild and in that effort, they'd allowed gaps. They remembered Buffy – their friend – but had forgotten the slaying.

Willow had placed all the moments of fear, all the feelings of helplessness, every single memory of pain at the very back of the cupboard of her mind. She had smoothed over all the whys and often skirted past the hows when she thought about that time in her life.

It was easier to live in a world where demons didn't exist, wasn't it? It was simpler for magic to be a fad or a religion than a necessity. It was far more comforting to think of her friend smiling and happy, than to think about a headstone on a grave. Easier even to think about the death itself, when she forced herself to, than the reasons behind that death.

Buffy's last wish for all of them was that they live. That's what Giles had said. Just that…that they live.

Willow Rosenberg had been trying to do that. But still she'd allowed the gaps.

Until last night. She looked into the face of the blonde lying on her side, curled into Willow's body.

Once, she had fought demons.

She had been afraid then too. But she had found new confidence by overcoming those fears.

She had felt helpless. But within the walls of helplessness, a determined strength had been honed, one as unwilling to bend as steel. She'd become…more… because of those moments. She'd been a dreamer, imagining the possibility of a world with no hellmouth, and her part in creating such a world. Little, nerdy, eager to please Willow…wielding an axe or a stake. Standing before a horde of demons and attempting a spell, and not panicking, but standing her ground. The horror she had felt with every life that they hadn't been able to save had increased her resolve. Each moment of fear had forced her to take a deep breath, and find courage.

When had she separated Buffy from the Slayer?

It wasn't that she hadn't been living…but she wasn't happy, and deep down…she felt there was more. More to say. More to do. More dreams to make come true, and with that…more demons to slay. She had the strength to do that. So did Xander, she had to tell him…had to remind him.

Tara shifted in Willow's arms…just a little closer.

Willow's eyes drifted over the lines of her face in the early morning light.

Her heart spoke her lover's name.

She placed a soft kiss on Tara's forehead.

'Believe me,' She had asked Tara last night. 'Believe me.'

Me, and not those police officers. Me, and not your father, or society or doctors or scientists…or the million other things that said they couldn't love each other, shouldn't love each other.

Tara had touched her last night on the beach in the middle of a raging, and brought understanding. Tara had touched her last night, here, in this bed, and Willow had discovered what it was to be unconditionally, completely loved. They had given themselves to one another without restraint, without doubt, without any faltering.

Willow Rosenberg had always had big dreams when it came to life. She wished for big things. From herself…from love. But after Buffy had died, she'd lost that part of herself, the one that dared to dream.

Until now.

Live, was Buffy's final request.

She had started to write about Buffy. About all of them. It had been her way of coping.

But it had never seemed right.

She was taking advanced courses in college at that time, and overnight her focus veered wildly from Electrical Engineering to English. It had helped, but she had found herself flailing instead of swimming. For some time, after Buffy's death, she had even lost that…that  _fire_ to achieve scholastically. It should have been her salvation. It always had been before. School was a world where the rules were known and where success was easily measured. She had always been driven, and even after Buffy's death that motivation hadn't left her immediately. It had seeped away slowly, until she woke up one day completely blind to her own reasoning.

What had suddenly mattered to her more than anything was telling Buffy's story.

It was, Willow had long ago realized, hard to write a truth. She had always known that if she tried to write about Buffy, it would be taken as invention. It was too incredible to believe. No matter what she wrote, people would either read it as fantasy or think Willow was insane. Neither prospect seemed a particularly pleasant thought.

Buffy had done so much for the world, and the idea that no one would ever know seemed unbearable. So Willow had settled for her truths being revised into fiction. Good stories required both talent and structure. She was the Charles Atlas of organizational muscles, but…the truth was that her writing was dry. Her ideas on paper were expressed with all the vitality of your average technical manual.

And why wouldn't it be? Her primary experience came from high school and college. She had written research papers and term papers with the best of them. But knowing how to write – how to engage her audience, how to make them care about her 'characters' – was another matter.

She needed people to care.

And she had a sinking feeling that what she needed to know, what she had to learn, couldn't be found in any school. What she needed, she decided, was practical exposure to a world where engaging the reader was as important as structure.

At first her hunt for a job that would accomplish this goal was far from successful. It had taken months.

It was Giles who'd quietly handed her a name and a phone number one day. He hadn't explained much – just that the man owed Buffy a favor and wanted to try and repay his debt. Willow had protested that taking advantage of a past good deed was against the unwritten slayerette code. Giles had told her to mind her own business, and refused to be referred to as a 'slayerette.'

Somewhere in her journey of 'gaining experience,' she'd put her very reason for taking the journey aside. She'd looked at her started manuscript and felt only fear and a distinct lack of faith that she could tell this story the way it deserved to be told.

In her day to day life, she'd become comfortable. Even her sense of discord at writing a beauty column was becoming all too familiar. She had shifted her dreams, was exchanging them daily for safer ones. Her career was no longer about learning to write so she could tackle the creation of a novel. She simply wanted to write a serious column. One where she could tackle issues and make what seemed to be a more realistic difference in the world.

The ambition wasn't the problem. Her new goal would have been fine, if it didn't mean pushing aside her passions. It would have been honorable if it didn't mean forgetting her best friend's sacrifice. It would have even been noble, if these new aspirations hadn't been a product of fears revolving around her lack of talent and courage.

Once she'd fought demons.

Once…she'd wanted to make the world a better place, and so she'd charged blindly into a fight against forces she could barely understand. She'd wanted friendships that would last her whole life, and so she'd held on – and followed her friends – no matter what god-forsaken danger was ahead.

She'd wanted love…and so she'd clung to a dream of the friend she'd known all of her life. But in the end, he hadn't been as brave as she was. His imagination hadn't been able to keep up with her dreams. At friendship, he was able to have and hold visions of amazing loyalty and sacrifice. But when it came to love, he hadn't been able to overcome his fears. She hoped he would one day.

 _'Believe me.'_ She'd told Tara.

And the trick to everything was that she had to believe too. She had to acknowledge all the possibilities of badness, and continue anyway. She had to lay herself down on the road, allowing that a truck might be along any minute to run her over…all for the chance that instead a little Tara Volkswagen Bug would stop and offer her a ride instead.

She covered her face with one hand. Clearly she needed more sleep, she thought, laughing at herself.

The point was…loving Tara might mean facing people who hated her just because of who she dared to love. Love was not just an offering, it was a banner you carried day in and day out. It was the acceptance of a battlefield, if need be, to defend that love's right to exist. Love never had been an act of peace. It was an act of courage.

Her desire to fit in, to be accepted, to be approved of…

It was her ability to stand up to herself that she doubted the most.

Once she had fought demons.

She had to try. Tara deserved so much. Tara was someone who would carry love's banner high and far – she would be an unceasing marcher in a grand parade – who never tired and never complained. For one of the first times in her life, Willow wondered if she could keep up with such a heart.

She wanted to try.

Because that's what it took to have a chance at something she'd dreamed of.

And because the only place on earth she wanted to be was at Tara's side.

Willow's fingertips caressed her lover's cheek.

Those soft lips tilted up in a smile. "You're still here."

"Where else would I be?"

"I w-was wondering if this was real." The blonde said.

"It is."

Another tender touch and this time the reward was the opening of Tara's eyes and a soft, loving look. "You're really here." Then a small frown. "And you're awake. Why are you awake?"

Willow had never seen Tara pout before, she realized. It was pretty dammed adorable. She kissed her once, and then again, lingering.

Okay, that was really, really nice.

She did it again. Another kiss, slow and luxuriating and…Okay, clearly she was allowing herself to become distracted here.

"I have to get up." Willow said regretfully.

A considering pause, her lover's brows furrowed ever so slightly "You have to get up." Tara repeated.

So far this wasn't going that well, Willow thought. "I know I'm going to sound crazy but…I have to write something."

Tara's lips quirked and her eyes glimmered with both amusement and sultriness. "Now?"

Willow looked at the luminous woman covered only by a sheet and felt incredibly chagrinned. "Ah…maybe? Believe me, I would rather it be later. In fact, days later. Years later, maybe. In fact, I'm rapidly losing willpower here and I'm thinking of just tossing the whole writer thing aside. I mean if I'm going to have impulses to leave the woman I love naked in bed, clearly writers are insane."

"Is it for work? Are you writing about what happened last night?" Tara asked.

"No…I...I will. I don't think it will go anywhere. My editor is not a very hip guy, but…but I'll try."

Her lover nodded in understanding. "It won't be easy for you."

"I don't know what he'll think of the whole thing, or of me. I don't know what he'll do. In fact, looking at the job ads before I hand it to him – probably not a bad idea." She shook her head, dismissing that. "Ah, what I want to work on now…see…I've been trying to write this book." She looked down shyly. "Only I've never thought it was any good. I'm not…overtly talented…you know, as a writer. I've always been more of a math person or a science person than an arts person. But my friend…my best friend Buffy died a few years ago and I thought maybe I could write about her. Sometimes...sometimes it feels like this book is all I have left."

Tara settled an arm around her waist. "It can feel that way." She agreed gently. Willow knew from her tone, from her facial expression that Tara too, had experienced a loss. "My mother…three years ago." Tara explained.

"I'm sorry." Willow told her quietly.

"I'm sorry for you…about your friend. But I…a long time before my mother died, my grandfather died…I was just five, I think. I barely knew him. I'd only met him o-once. But I remember his laugh. He had the best laugh. I carry that sound inside of me. It comes back to me in so many little things. After m-my m-mother d-died…I thought…maybe part of loving her is finding all the ways she's still here with me even though she's gone."

The redhead leaned her forehead against Tara's. "I just…she gave me so much. I want to…" She faltered there. It was hard to put into words. She was one of the caretakers of her friend's spirit. Someone like Buffy should be remembered. Someone like Buffy should live well past her death. And if she could give her that gift, immorality, then maybe she could make up for not being able to save her life. "I…I just can't ever seem to put what I think, what I remember, down on paper. It always comes out so…small. But this morning when I woke up next to you, I…had this urge to write. I… I think maybe I have a better beginning now. I need to get it down on paper. …" She searched Tara's eyes, wondering if she could convey all her fears and needs about her next words with one look. "And then I need you to read it."

Only a complete fool would leave the still rumpled bed. Tara's lips looked so inviting, and her creamy skin so soft. She knew how soft now. She knew how Tara's hands felt as they clenched at her, needing her – needing her hands or her mouth. They had walked a myriad of bridges last night in their passion – from tender to aggressive, to loving. There had been moments that were almost rough – growling, moving hard, demanding, but always a softening too. They strained to keep the connection of their fiery stares, seeking footholds in the dark. Holding hands, mingling their fingers together as they moved and the unity was echoed by their bodies. Words softly whispered of beauty and trust and love – and when they were too lost to speak coherently, they would sigh one another's names as if it was an answer to an eternal question.

Willow let her hand caress Tara's cheek, thinking all these things. Just looking at Tara made her start to sizzle again, to need, to ache. All Tara had to do was touch her and she knew she would be lost again, that she wouldn't be able to stop herself from that dance of taking and giving. She had never felt like this before – a match head needing only that one spark to blaze. Just a moment away from losing control and held there on that edge. The will of her body and heart no longer completely her own.

The problem was not that she didn't know where she should be or what she should do. Clearly making love to Tara again was the intelligent thing to do. You didn't have to be Einstein to know that.

The problem was that inspiration was a tricky thing.

"I thought about being a writer," Tara admitted soothingly, "I thought about b-b-being a b-botanist too. But sometimes women aren't taken ser-riously in the sciences. And I'm…um…not that good with conflict."

Willow ran her thumb over Tara's shoulder. "Me neither."

Tara's eyes glowed warmly at her. "Y…you are…when it matters. I think…you're one of the bravest people I know. You were g-going to help me and you barely knew me. And you charged back in even though you kn-knew about the police. And even at the beach." Here, the redhead started to lower her head, only to find her chin lifted and kept high by her lover. "Even then, Willow…you didn't let them beat you. You didn't give up."

Willow felt her heart expand with the sudden fulfillment of an aching she'd had all of her life. Her imagination as good as it was, could have never conjured anyone like Tara or this feeling that grew deeper and sweeter with every moment in Tara's presence.

"I… I used to hope so much." Willow admitted softly. "I used to believe it was possible to defeat anything – even if it all seemed dark and hopeless and all the odds were against you. I refused to accept that I couldn't make it better – even a little bit at a time. I used to need to try and make it better." Her brow furrowed. "I lost that. I lost all of it. I've been…I've been trying to live without it." She sat up, and Tara sat up with her, pulling the sheet around her as she watched her lover. "I just…let myself forget. But…but I missed it. And you made me remember. I met you and…you inspire me again. That's why I…I need to write. And when I'm done, I need you to read it. It's part of me, and I need you to know…and then I need you to believe me. It won't be easy, but…if you can at all…I hope you can."

She stood without another word, her naked form sculpted in the light of sunrise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harvey Milk said: "The blacks did not win their rights by sitting quietly in the back of the bus. They got off! Gay people, we will not win our rights by staying quietly in our closets... We are coming out! We are coming out to fight the lies, the myths, the distortions! We are coming out to tell the truth about gays!"  
> Thanks to those who refuse to be hidden and who, by this act…give others hope.

The town of Sunnydale had always held many secrets. Or at least that was what Tara Maclay was about to discover….that is, if ten pages written by the woman she loved could be believed.

The story was an introduction to the one girl in all the world – the slayer.

The story began with the meeting of Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles…and it told how Buffy had refused to treat Willow…well, like everyone else did. It told of Willow's crush on Xander, and the start of his infatuation with Buffy. Most of all it was the story of three young lives finding the courage to face a Hellmouth – together.

Ten pages.

Xander had taken her home so she could collect fresh clothes and what not. Willow had encouraged Tara to go, sending her along with both a kiss and the pages she'd written.

It was confusing for Tara because it seemed so fictional and yet Willow had insisted that this was a true story she was writing. Willow hadn't said much more, just that it was true and she wanted Tara to know.

To know…

She'd spent a night in the arms of heaven. She'd stumbled upon the safest place on earth. All of the stories she had ever read, that even now formed towers of paperbacks in her room, hadn't prepared her for feeling this way. There were thoughts about her future the sand of which was undisturbed. It took more courage than she thought she possessed to wander there. She had managed to defy her father but not the voices in her head that told her she was destined to go through life unnoticed. A friend, a student…perhaps a teacher or some other profession that women could have and not be thought of as strange.

She was unremarkable and shy, and never expected anything that was extraordinary. She'd always had a giving heart, but she wasn't sure she'd ever had a courageous one. The one thing she knew and believed was that the love she dreamed about in the secret parts of herself would not be handed to her. Love that conquered all would test her. It would look into her and find what she valued most and then ask her to risk it all. She had been sure that somehow she would fail. Like a marathon runner running a race, she would somehow be too slow.

But then, she had never been asked to run. It was her own doing; she had kept to herself since she'd left home. She had been asked many places by her friends. There were opportunities out there. She'd just been so certain she would fail. She'd allowed herself to only be a spectator, and had been sure that was her rightful place – on the sidelines, alone. Watching everything she might want, had she dared to allow herself even her longings, pass her by.

Only two soft hands pulled her into the spotlight and showed her how to run….showed her how to fly.

She read what Willow had given her and could only find in herself a quiet certainty.

She should have thought many things.

It was true that she was a witch, and that she believed in the mystical. But believing in it and accepting that it had just eaten your lunch were two different things. Tara had always been a fast reader. But in this case it took her almost a full hour to get through ten pages. She kept re-reading.

She should have felt shocked.

Instead she only felt a sense of knowing. She knew Willow. She knew love.

Sabby was at home, and had shrieked upon seeing her. She'd called the police station, but there was no record that anyone had been taken into custody. She'd stayed in the bar, even after the announcement had been made that the police were coming, but she hadn't been one of the unlucky ones who'd been taken. The police had forced everyone to leave anyway, and the bar had been shut down for the night.

Apparently Tara was the talk of everyone who had been there. Well…Tara and the lovely redhead that she'd engaged in a fiery kiss with.

Sabby had lived in Sunnydale for a long, long time and had never been anything but forthright with Tara. Sabby being Sabby…she'd wanted details of WHERE Tara had been since she'd last seen her and WHAT she had been doing…and WHO the redhead was that she might have been doing things with.

"You know I'm n-not the type t-to…just…"

"Oh sweetie, I'm not saying you were cruising for anything," Sabby answered with a broad grin, "but the way you two were swapping spit…there's no nun habit on you…and she was yummy."

Tara's cheeks were seared with red, but she didn't give any specifics. "She's….she's remarkable."

"Ohhh, someone sounds like they have it bad. Okay, you're not going to tell me what happened, do I at least get to know her name?"

"Willow. W-W-willow Rosenberg."

The change that came over her friend was startling. Sabrice was out-going and loved gossip – her love life or others, it didn't matter. But her features suddenly shut down. Her gaze became thoughtful and…there was something else…concern and uncertainty.

"What?" Tara asked. "D-do you…know her?"

"No." Sabby shook her head, seemingly trying to chase away whatever she had been thinking a moment before. "I mean, I know of her. Most people who have been here awhile know about her." She drew back, sitting cross-legged in the beanbag chair opposite Tara. "There're things about this town that no one has ever talked about." The questions bubbled up in the blonde and her roommate held up a hand, trying to stop the barrage she knew might come at any moment. "Tara…it's hard to explain. People used to disappear a lot. My…My sister did."

Tara hadn't known. She doubted any of their other roommates knew either. Sabby always seemed so carefree, so ready to jump from one party to the next.

"They found her later…the fuzz said she o.d.'d." She went on.

"I'm really sorry." Tara said gently.

Her friend's lips pressed into a bitter line. "To hear the cops tell it, Sunnydale was the capital of drugs and gangs…and freak acts of nature."

"You d-didn't believe them." It was a statement, not a question. Blue eyes were calm, ever compassionate.

Sabrice shook her head in the negative. "No one did. I mean, come on, no one is that clueless. But it was freaky…no one questioned it either."

"Did…did something happen to W-Willow? Is that why everyo-o-one knows h-her?"

"Rosenberg, her friend Buffy and…Xander Harris. They were all friends and they all had this incredible knack for showing up when something terrible was about to happen. I mean…it was uncanny. It was like they could see into the future or something. I don't know how many people they saved, and no one ever wanted to talk about the circumstances of it all…but there were whispers…every day there were whispers about someone else who owed Buffy and her friends. A few years ago, Buffy died…" Her voice trailed off, and her eyes dimmed a little. "A lot of us went to her funeral. We weren't even sure why. We just knew that she'd tried to help. And after Buffy died…things were different in this town."

"How did…how did she die?" Tara's eyes were shadowed by what she knew, by what she'd read. It was a story of the beginning, and it made her realize how little she knew about the ending.

"No one knows. But I'll tell ya, the day it happened, it's like all those gangs and drug dealers and acts of nature…suddenly cut out of town. I've never seen Rosenberg…but I've heard stories about her for years. Most people give her and Xander Harris a wide berth."

"B-b-but…if she did something to help w-with what w-as going on…"

"I'm not saying it makes sense. Maybe we were afraid because they were able to do things no one can explain. I don't know. But…people have always thought she's different, Tare."

The blonde's chin lifted. "She is. I think s-she believes she can change the world. And w-when I'm with her…I feel that way too. And s-suddenly I b-b-become someone I've always wanted to be."

Her friend's lips lifted briefly. "Yeah, you two were pretty radical last night."

Tara's lips blossomed into a grin and she reached out and touched the hand-written pages in front of her. "I think…I think we're j-j-just getting started." A sense of awe filled her as she spoke the next words. "I love her."

"Tara, you just met her!"

Tara stood, carrying the ten pages with her. "I know. And we should probably have taken our time. Last night b-brought so much to the surface. I feel like I know her…I just…"

Her friend gave a Cheshire cat smile. "Finally. It's about time, girl. I've always thought that what you needed to get you out of your shell was someone to sweep you off your feet."

"Oh, I'm swept." Tara admitted with a grin. Then a glint of mischief entered her blue eyes. "B-by the way…she's incredible in bed." She winked and chose that as her exit line.

"What?!!" Sabrice called after her.

 

* * *

 

 

"You told her about Buffy?" Giles repeated.

Willow knew this next part might not go over well. "Well…I had to." He looked to her expectantly and she almost lost her courage. "Giles…" She began slowly. "I have something to tell you." Now his expression was concerned, which wasn't at all what she had been going for. "It's not a bad thing. It's not like icky and scary…I mean, maybe it's...a little scary? But not all with the Grrrr…ahhhh things are after me scary."

Rupert Giles had learned to be patient as he assisted these young people. They all had…peculiarities. They had seen….they had done what no one should have ever been asked to. They should have had a normal life, with nothing on their minds in their teenaged years but dating and clothes…and…other teenaged things. He found all of them to be remarkable. He loved them, and though it was against his nature to be overly sentimental or affectionate, he did try to show them – in his own way. Often by playing the role of listener and advisor.

"Willow," He said quietly. "Surely you know that there's nothing you can say that would shock me."

"I had to tell her because…I'm in love with her. I'm in love with Tara."

Rupert Giles's eyes grew wide for a moment and he blinked at her. In fact, he was outright owlish. "I see." He said. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I…see." He repeated. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" Without another word, he ducked into the kitchen.

Willow thought it best to follow him and ignore his request, just this once. "Giles, I'm sorry if…I mean…it's probably a shock. It kinda was to me, too."

"Well…yes…It is...um…unexpected." He muttered and he fumbled for a glass of water. "And she…um…Tara…she feels…?"

"Well, as of last night it was pretty mutual. But…Giles, are you okay?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." He took a long sip of water. "One did not expect one to have certain preferences. So one does find oneself surprised…however if you give one a few moments, one will…likely adjust."

"Giles, could you please not call yourself 'one' anymore? It's giving me the creeps."

He saw how distressed she was, how much his opinion mattered to her. His lips lifted briefly. If he'd ever had a daughter…he would have wanted her to be…like Buffy and Willow. He hid his pride in them too often. And whether he admitted it or not, he did feel quite fatherly…quite protective. "You said…you love her?"

"Giles, I know you might not agree with how I feel…" She began slowly.

He shook his head, his brow wrinkling in thought, trying to find a way to advise her as always. "Willow, it's a matter of there being so many uncertainties."

"Uncertainties?" She echoed. "Giles…. Even when Buffy was alive…" He looked up sharply, it was as if she had broken a taboo by mentioning the slayer. They didn't talk about her, and when they did they didn't mention anything in conjunction with unpleasantness. Sometimes it was as if Buffy was on vacation somewhere and not gone. "When Buffy was alive," Willow forged ahead. "I mean you had the sharp-teethed, pale-skinned types that you knew you probably should stake. But there were plenty of uncertainties. It didn't stop us from…"

"When Buffy was alive, there were very few choices." He answered quietly.

"And what choice do you think I have now? How can I help who I love?"

His features tightened as he weighed the future of a couple such as Willow and Tara. "With all due respect," He began quietly, emphatically. "How can you possibly be sure what you feel about her after one night?"

"I don't know," She fumbled slightly, feeling the conversation reel away from her. That he would disapprove did cross her mind, but she'd thought that those three little words were something of an end game. That once he understood her heart was at stake, it would hold more meaning for him than anything else. Wasn't that the way it worked with people who loved you? "I don't know, I just…"

"Take things one step at a time. I'm not suggesting you don't see this girl, but…perhaps the heat of the moment has unduly influenced you."

"You make her sound like alcohol. Like I went out and got drunk last night, and now it's time to go back to being good old square Willow."

She watched him regroup, but not before she saw the flash of discomfort her words had caused. "There's nothing wrong with being good old square Willow." Giles said gently.

"Except if good old square Willow decides to date another woman."

He let his glasses dangle from his fingertips, and weariness seemed to shadow his face. The expression of a man who had seen those he cared about in too much pain, too much that he couldn't stop…couldn't help carry. "The world isn't kind to those who are different. When Buffy was alive, how many times did you, she and Xander feel like outsiders? How many times did people walk right past you and pretend you weren't there? And then…it was because you made people uncomfortable. Now, they'll hate you."

"But…but what happened to what you said last night? All that 'let what you hope the world could be shape you and not what it is' talk?"

The former watcher made a helpless gesture. "I suppose it's easier to say that kind of thing after danger has passed than when someone you care for is marching directly toward it. It…wouldn't be an easy life, Willow." He struggled for words, at a loss, as he sometimes was between his head and his heart. "I had hoped… you deserve peace. And unabridged happiness. You've earned it."

"I found it. She makes me feel that way." Willow insisted.

"There's a price, isn't there? Last night…and there will be more. Hate can be fanned so quickly, Willow. The world can tolerate one thing today – hand you over to forces that would destroy you tomorrow – and be secretly joyful that you are gone."

Willow took a step toward him, hearing all he had said and knowing that he was only telling her the truth. Also knowing that there were higher things than frightening truths. "I have to make a choice. I have to choose to be happy or to be safe. I have to make a choice – to live or be controlled by fear." She searched her mind for all the right words to say to convince him, and suddenly knew that she couldn't.

All she could do was tell him what was in her heart, and…accept whatever happened.

"I'm sorry if it's not what you hoped for me." She said quietly. "And you're right…I have a choice to be with her or not. But what she makes me feel…that's not a choice. For the first time, I'm feeling something that I believe I can build a life on…and that's not a choice either."

"She has the most amazing vision of the world." She continued, her voice shaking as she weighed all of what was inside her against losing the love and respect of someone who'd helped her become who she was. "Right and wrong. And what it means to love. What it means to fight. I've gone through my whole life being the smartest one in the room. But last night she taught me. The way I feel with her…it's like so much of me was sleeping and it found a reason to wake up. I used to be…braver." She bolstered herself, lifting her shoulders. "After Buffy died, I hardened. I became afraid. Not entirely. Not all of me. But enough so that I began to second guess…everything. I let myself have blinders, and I stayed on my path…and my dreams became so small. She makes me want to take the blinders off, and change my path, and dare myself…dare everything. She makes me dream again." Her eyes beseeched him to try and understand. "I never thought I'd meet someone who made everything seem so simple, so clear. I don't think there are many people like her out there. I have to follow her…follow this feeling. I have to."

He was silent for a long moment, then he set down the glass of water. "You know that I worry…that I say things that may seem harsh because…" He stopped there, the words seeming to catch inside him. He cleared his throat. "Well…because."

As a precaution, she had prepared herself for the worst, for losing him. Children believe that those they love will stay with them forever. But as adults, we slowly come to realize that choices can be as dividing as death. Now, gratitude dared to leap in her. "So you're all right…with Tara and me, I mean?"

He met her eyes unflinchingly. "I don't think Buffy died for a world where anyone had the right to tell her best friend whom she can and cannot love. You and Tara always have a place here, for as long as you want one."

She stepped toward him, knowing he wasn't a man prone to emotional outbursts. She hugged him anyway and was surprised when he tightened the embrace and kissed her forehead lightly.

She drew in a shaky breath, feeling tears sting her eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't have told her."

"Give her time." He murmured soothingly, hoping he was right. Sometimes love could be unexpected and sometimes people weren't who you thought they were. It could be devastating finding out you were oh so wrong. He hoped with all his heart that she would be spared that kind of pain. Her words had left no doubt how taken she was with Tara.

She deserved happiness, but this was a hard road. Still, they'd all gone down hard roads, hadn't they? He couldn't help but worry. The world was not fair. It was not kind. She had already been through so much.

He held her another moment, uncertain what else to do or say…wishing it was in his power to protect her from all the dangers, from all the nights like the one before, from all the fights that couldn't be won, but had to be survived. From all the hate that could only be tamed by time.

"Dust in my eye." The former watcher commented, finally releasing her and rubbing at his eyes.

"Oh yeah, mine too." She said, sniffling.

 

* * *

 

It had been an hour since the conversation with Giles, and though they hadn't talked any more about it, they had both remained rather quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Giles made them tea and every once in awhile they would give one another wry looks, acknowledging that they both had a lot on their minds, without saying anything aloud.

"Anyone home?"A male voice called. "Let's try the kitchen, Tara." Xander was saying and that's where Willow's mind stuck.

_Tara?  Tara was back?_

"Hey, here you are." Xander entered the kitchen, and lifted himself on one of the counters. Tara moved into the doorway, holding a small overnight bag. Willow caught her best friend's greeting but couldn't focus on it.

"Hi." The redhead said, almost breathlessly.

"Hi." Tara answered. Willow felt as if it was the most romantic thing that had ever been said to her.

Tara felt a fist of anticipation curl and hold in her chest. She devoured Willow's expression, but not because she was looking for doubt or confirmation. Though, she was afraid…she was conscious that this was the fabled morning after.

But all she knew now…was Willow was here. Willow, so beautiful and brave…who could hold terrible anger and astonishing compassion.

She knew what it felt like to be held by this woman.

Awe, and wonder…and memories…and the power of being with her again all assailed her.

Xander looked from one woman to the other, feeling like he had missed something. "I told you I was gonna get her on my way back from the station."

"Um…hi" The blonde repeated, she and Willow still transfixed by one another.

"Did you…did you read it?"

Tara nodded eagerly, grateful to have a simple yes or no question to start things out with. There was so much that she was feeling, that she wondered if Willow was feeling…that she hoped…that she wondered. "Oh y-y-yes. Several times."

"You know I…you know it's all true…I mean...well clearly I'm not 5'9"…and okay, it was Xander that knew about Buffy first and not me…but I mean…it's true."

"She knows about Buffy?" The police officer exclaimed. "She knows what I knew?"

Willow turned her attention to her best friend for a moment. "I started trying to write that book about Buffy again. I wrote ten pages yesterday. I let Tara read it."

"Well," Giles began carefully breaking into the silence that followed Willow's words. "Tara, I can only imagine what you must be thinking. It must seem impossible to believe."

"Yes…but I…I do believe." All eyes went to her. They didn't seem sure they had heard correctly.

"Everything?" The redhead was suddenly pressing. "Cause I don't know if I'd believe me if I were you."

"Well," A light danced in Tara's eyes. "Was Mr. G-Giles really in his late twenties when he and Buffy met?"

The watcher in question straightened. "I may have asked Willow to adjust a decade or so, in the interest of…um…readability."

"Ten years?!" Xander exclaimed. "You gave him ten years but you wouldn't give me a decent car? I was only asking for a Ford."

"Xander," Willow said sharply, "We'll talk about it  _later._ "

"Willow, could you help me with my things?" Tara asked delicately. "I b-brought enough clothes for a few days like Xander suggested." She looked quickly to the older man. "Is that alright, Mr. Giles?"

"Of course." Giles said quickly. "Willow, I trust you can help Tara settle in."

A smile, so broad that it seemed like sadness had never touched it, was the answer.

The two women departed quickly, heading in the direction of the stairs.

Giles turned to the other man suddenly. "Did you know that Willow and Tara are…well…interested in one another?"

"You didn't?" Xander asked, taking delight in the opportunity to tease his friend and father figure. "It's obvious." Giles blinked rapidly and looked toward the stairs. "You…ah…okay with everything?" The policeman asked more seriously.

"Shouldn't I be asking you?"

Xander gave a small shrug. "I'm trying to adjust to Willow being interested in women…and yet being with me for as long as she was. All in all my ego has had better days. But…" He smiled softly…and didn't finish, he didn't have to.

"Despite being terrified for her…you're also proud?" The older man prompted.

"Pretty much."

Giles drew in a deep breath, a tender ache touching his soul. "Buffy would be too." He rubbed at his eyes again for the second time that day. "Good gracious, where  _did_  all the dust in here come from?"

So much was aching inside Tara…to talk, to make love, to whisper tender words…to not say anything at all and just touch Willow's face and hair. Reading who Willow had been, that act of trust, it was only confirmation her life had been forever altered.

Could Willow be feeling all of this? All she was feeling? It terrified her to think that. It terrified her to think that her lover felt any less than she did.

Willow drew in a deep breath and let it out. Tara darted a glance at her. They hadn't spoken yet though they both had tried. They were holding hands and stealing glances, and occasionally catching one another and giving shy, embarrassed grins.

"I d-d-don't know why I'm so nervous." Tara said finally.

"Are you um…regretting anything?" Willow asked slowly, her voice suddenly small.

"Oh, Willow no." Tara cried out. "No…p-please don't…"

Green eyes dared to meet blue. "No?"

"Never." The single word allowed for no argument. "I know how I feel…and I think I know how you feel…but part of me…part of me is s-s-sure I must be wrong. So there's this part of me that…keeps thinking…that any moment you're going to tell me that it was just…that we can't be together."

The heat of last night came back to her. She had never in her life been so out of control with someone. There was an energy, something old and present between them…an attraction that radiated from Tara to Willow and back again. She could feel it even now, even though they weren't that close. They were alone…they were…here, in this room. She wondered if she should be embarrassed. No one else had ever made her walk that edge of greed and insatiability…and need. Willow had made her forget everything – the night, where they were, her own ever-present shyness and reservations. The woman she loved had sculpted her into Aphrodite for those long hours, and she had felt as though she were the embodiment of radiance and passion, and love.

What was she supposed to say? How could she explain that that person wasn't really her? That she was…well…not entirely the woman Willow had met last night. But that she wanted to be. That she liked the person she became when she was with Willow. That…she felt unconfined, unchained, unveiled…suddenly.

Willow searched the softness of Tara's gaze with her own, then she moved on her knees in front of the woman she loved. She took one of Tara's hands, then bent her head and kissed the palm.

The corners of Willow's lips crinkled as she smiled. "You know, I'll prove to you I'm yours if I have to…and…" Another soft kiss on Tara's palm. "That you're mine."

Once again with the boldness….the words stunned the reporter…and um…she had said them.

But Tara was smiling, and more than that, the energy between them had surged. They were still barely touching, but now long slim fingers were sinking into her hair.

Willow closed her eyes at the caress. "I was so afraid you wouldn't come back." She admitted, and she laid her cheek momentarily in Tara's lap. Her lover's arms came around her.

"Oh love, that was never a possibility." The blonde pressed kisses to her brow. Every touch made both their fear-filled souls mend a little more. "I've k-k-known what I wanted all of my life…but when push came to shove, I a-a-always gave in. Or settled. Or let other people take it away from me. Before we even met, I wanted you…You're the one thing my whole life I didn't let others or myself change. I'm not used to being someone who risks or who fights, but I will for you."

"And I will for you." Willow echoed.

The reporter lifted her head. She leaned up and their mouths crashed sensually. The kisses were deep and frenzied for a moment before Willow drew back, shivering with the force of what Tara inspired in her.

She had never felt like this in her whole life, so quickly her mind tumbled out of control, her body and her heart having their way…surrendering and needing. It was powerful…and it shook her down to her foundation, then lifted her and recreated her. Each and every time…each and every touch. A renewal…a birth…the essence of her life burning like a star in her chest as she ascended with Tara, and even after…quieting but not dimming.

Tara became her wings and her dance…and she believed – completely – that life was a sky, that life was music urging her on. She believed unequivocally that it was good. She was sharing it with Tara, and so it couldn't be anything else.

"You know I like cuddling?"

The blonde laughed. "I got that." Then she said, "You know I know lots of um…strange historical and literary facts that I'll tend to um…bring up. Especially if I f-feel uncertain."

"I could be called – occasionally – a babbler."

"With me, there's the stutter." Tara countered.

"I can't carry a tune, and have been known to pout."

"I can, kind of, gather anger. Like…not tell people things until…kablam?"

"I can be a bit…um…obsessive."

The blonde worried her lower lip. "Um, I should tell you something. It's um…about the story pages you gave me."

 

* * *

 

 

"Yeah, I know…I think when I write I kinda…" The redhead fumbled for a moment longer before blurting. "I think it sounds like an instruction manual."

It wasn't as bad as all that, Tara thought. Not even close. But it had been hard to get into, and hard to  _fee1._

Books had been a part of her life for so long, and she felt she knew what Willow was going for…but she hadn't been guided there. Willow's impatience showed in the way she told the tale, it seemed jerky in places and yet…in others flowing.

It must have been hard to write…especially about Buffy. Especially since Buffy's friend had been working on it for a long time.

Which is why she was feeling so apologetic.

Tara pulled back from Willow just long enough to reach for her bag. From it, she produced an envelope. "Um, I don't k-k-know if I sh-should have but…I made some notes."

Willow shook her head in absolute wonderment. "I love you." Tara felt her worries slipping away…until her lover said…"There's…there's lots of green."

"I…I didn't want to use red." She knew it was feeble, even as she said it.

"LOTS of green." Willow repeated.

"Oh, but a lot of it's good…I liked it a lot. I'm s-s-sorry if I….y…you said this was important to you so I…"

She hadn't been able to help herself…it had so much promise…so much was right with it. It had started with the opening. The blonde had been sure that if she made an adjustment here and there, the opening would leave the readers dying to find out more. And the opening became the first page…and it was wrong, she had told herself, when she was staring at ten green-laden pages.

She'd had no right. This was not what Willow had asked her to do. She'd been given the pages as a gift, as a symbol of trust. Her love was bound to be hurt by this, bound to feel insulted.

Tara slowly reached for the pages.

 

* * *

 

 

Something in Willow was utterly content.

Finally, it said, at the thought of pages filled with suggestions and constructive criticism – both good and bad. And Tara, she noted, had been very careful to be even with her comments…there was a lot that was positive, thank goodness.

"Hey…you're reaching." She noted and tugged the papers away from the repentant-looking Tara.

"I can be…obsessive too. I think I went a little…marker happy."

"I want you here…" She pointed down, indicating the house and with her, in general. "And here." She laid her hand over her heart. "And here." She held up the pages. "I'll keep reminding you of that, if you'll keep reminding me."

"And maybe one day…we can just know, w-w-without the reminding. But Willow…I think that may be awhile."

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "This love stuff requires a lot of reminding." Then she gave a tender smile. "And…I like the idea of having a writing partner."

"Not just a writing partner." The blonde countered and the sudden smoky look in her eyes was unmistakable.

Willow's heart skipped a beat. I want to share this…I want to show her off to the world, to everyone.

And then something in her realized, and with that realization, her hopes sank just a little.

She had to be careful. They had to be.

They couldn't tell everyone. They couldn't show everyone. Not now. It might affect Tara's school and Willow's job…and it might even affect those they loved. They might be able to get away with being known as 'those lesbians' but showing it…saying it was another matter entirely.

She wanted to say to hell with everyone…to hell with what the world thought.

Willow wanted to do that, but something in her knew that it wasn't realistic. There was too much to fight, and they were going to have to pick their battles.

She took in a deep breath. Okay…so that wasn't the best of all worlds. But she could live with it. As long as she fought to change things, as long as  _they_ battled to make things better.

 


End file.
